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NOPT'i  CAROLINA 

School  of  Library 

Science 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00022093333 


^S"^ 


^tk  |ubiiilf5 


Pl^LISHED  BY 


JAMES  MILLEB, 

63a    BROADWAY,    N.    Y. 


MAGNET  STORIES, 

For  Summer  Days  and  "Winter  Nighta 

SECOND  8EEIE8. 


AND   OTHER  STORIES. 
BY   MISS    ABBOTT. 


THE  PRIVATE  PURSE, 
<^nb  otljer  Stories. 

BY    MRS.    S.    C.    HALI^. 


ruRisrs  OF  fortxttstb 

wK^nacil  cE><iOa(Sls>  ^SOcsqp Sicsssa 
S^    MRS.    S     O     HALL. 


Published  by  James  Miller^  522  Broadway. 

FHILIf  EMI, 

OR   THREE    MONTHS    AT    SEA- 
BY  PETER  PARLEY. 


]n%  Jlnhrs^n's  Monhrful  f  ales. 

ILLUSTRATED. 


MM  mmmM'^  %imi  boot. 

HiLTJSTRATED. 


fans  g^n^ersen's  |aitg  faUs. 

ILLUSTRATED. 

GULLIVER'S  TRAVELS. 

New  Edition.    Illustrated. 


New  Edition.     Illustrated. 

Ilttnt  Otatrie's  Sipes  for  Cfeilk^n. 


LIFE  OF  GEO.  WASHINGTON. 

With  Illustrations  by  Darley. 


Digitized  by  tlie  Internet  Arcliive 

in  2011  witli  funding  from 

University  of  Nortli  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/littlerudyothersOOande 


'^^i::??^ 


H)ici§  ^cidltF-ttfi'i  Lijferpiif^f.      K 


BY  HANS  CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN. 


rr22  ^roHbfoan. 


LITTLE    RUDY 


AND    OTHER    STORIE  S. 


BY  HANS  CHRISTIAN  ANl^ERSEN. 


Ulustrattb. 


NEW  YORK : 
PUBLISHED  BY  JAMES  MILLER, 

(rUCCESSOK  TO   C.  S.   FRANCIS   &  CO.) 

622  BROADWAY 


CONTENTS 


Little  Rudy 11 

The  Journey  to  the  New  Home 24 

The  Uncle 33 

Babette 41 

On  the  Way  Home 58 

The  Visit  to  the  MUl 62 

The  Eagle's  Nest 69 

What  more  the  Parlor  Oat  had  to  Tell 75 

The  Ice-Maiden's  Scorn  of  Mankiad 79 

The  Godmother 83 

The  Cousin 88 

Evil  Powers 92 

At  the  Miller's  House 98 

Night  Visions 102 

The  Conclusion 106 

696741 


10  CONTENTS. 

PAOB 

The  Bttttekflt 116 

PSTOIIE 121 

The  Snail  akd  the  Rosebush 145 

Twelve  by  the  Mail.  . , , 150 

A  Rose  from  the  Grave  of  Homer 158 

The  Racers 163 


LITTLE  RUDY. 


i)ET  us  pay  a  visit  to  Switzerland.  Let 
us  look  around  us  in  that  magnificent 
mountainous  country,  wliere  the  woods 
creep  up  the  sides  of  the  precipitous 
walls  of  rock ;  let  us  ascend  to  the  daz- 
zling snow-fields  above,  and  descend 
again  to  the  green  valleys  beneath, 
where  the  rivers  and  the  brooks  foam  along  as 
if  they  were  afraid  that  they  should  not  fast 
enough  reach  the  ocean  and  be  lost  in  its  im- 
mensity. The  sun's  burning  rays  shine  on  the 
deep  dales  ;  and  they  also  shine  upon  the  heavy 
masses  of  snow  above,  so  that  the  ice-blocks 
which  have  been  accumulating  for  years  melt 
and  become  rolling  avalanches,  piled-up  gla- 
ciers. Two  such  lie  in  the  broad  mountain 
clefts  under  Schreckhorn  and  Wetterhom,  near 
the  little  mountain  town  of  Grindelwald.  They 
are  wonderful  to  behold,  and  therefore  in  sum- 


12  LITTLE   KTJDT. 

mer-time  many  strangers  come  here  from  every 
foreign  land.  They  come  over  the  lofty  snow- 
covered  hills;  they  come  through  the  deep 
valleys,  and  from  thence  for  hours  and  hom*s 
they  must  mount ;  and  always,  as  they  ascend, 
the  valleys  seem  to  become  deeper  and  deeper, 
until  they  appear  as  if  viewed  from  a  balloon 
high  up  in  the  air.  The  clouds  often  hang  like 
thick  heavy  curtains  of  smoke  around  the  lofty 
mountain  peaks,  while  down  in  the  valley, 
where  the  many  brown  wooden  houses  lie  scat- 
tered about,  a  bright  ray  of  the  sun  may  be 
shining,  and  bringing  into  strong  relief  some 
brilliant  patch  of  green,  making  it  look  as  if  it 
were  transparent.  The  waters  foam  and  roar 
as  they  rush  along  below — they  mm*mur  and 
tinkle  above.  They  look,  up  there,  like  silver 
ribbons  streaming  down  over  the  rocks. 

On  both  sides  of  the  ascendmg  road  lie 
wooden  houses.  Each  house  has  its  little  po- 
tato garden,  and  this  is  a  necessity ;  for  within- 
doors yonder  are  many  mouths — the  houses  are 
crammed  with  children — and  children  often 
waste  their  food.  From  all  the  cottages  they 
sally  forth  in  swarms,  and  throug  round  travel- 
lers, whether  these  are  on  foot  or  in  carriages. 
The  whole  troop  of  children  are  little  merchants 


LITTLE   ETJDT.  13 

— they  offer  for  sale  charming  toy  wooden 
houses,  models  of  the  dwellings  one  sees  here 
among  the  mountains.  Whether  it  he  fair 
weather  or  foul,  the  crowds  of  children  issue; 
forth  with  their  wares. 

Some  twenty  years  ago  occasionally  stood 
here,  but  always  at  a  short  distance  from  the 
other  children,  a  little  hoy,  who  was  alsO' 
ready  to  engage  in  trade.  He  stood  with  an 
earnest,  grave  expression  of  countenance,  and 
holding  his  deal-box  fast  with  both  his  hands, 
as  if  he  were  afraid  of  losing  it.  The  very  earn- 
estness of  his  face,  and  his  being  such  a  little 
fellow,  caused  him  to  be  remarked  and  called 
forward,  so  that  he  often  sold  the  most — he  did 
not  himself  know  why.  Higher  up  among  the 
hills  lived  his  maternal  grandfather,  who  cut 
out  the  neat  pretty  houses,  and  in  a  room  up  yon- 
der was  an  old  press  full  of  all  sorts  of  things — 
nut-crackers,  knives,  forks,  boxes  with  very  pret- 
tily carved  leaf-work,  and  springing  chamois  : 
there  was  every  thing  to  please  a  child's  eye. 
But  the  little  Rudy,  as  he  was  called,  looked 
with  greater  interest  and  longing  at  the  old 
fire-arms  and  other  weapons  which  were  hung 
up  under  the  beams  of  the  roof.  "  He  should 
have  them  some  day,"  said  his  grandfather, 
2 


14  LITTLE  EUDT. 

■^^  when  he  was  big  enough  and  strong  enough  to 
■make  use  of  them."  Young  as  the  boy  was,  he 
was  set  to  take  care  of  the  goats ;  and  he  who 
had  to  clamber  after  them  was  obhged  to  keep 
a  good  look-out,  and  to  be  a  good  climber. 
And  Rudj  was  an  excellent  climber ;  he  even 
went  higher  than  the  goats,  for  he  was  fond  of 
seeking  for  birds'  nests  up  among  the  tops  of 
the  trees.  Bold  and  adventurous  he  was,  but 
no  one  ever  saw  him  smile,  excej^t  when  he 
stood  near  the  roaring  cataract  or  heard  the 
thunder  of  a  rolling  avalanche.  He  never 
played  with  the  other  children — he  never  went 
near  them,  except  when  his  grandfather  sent 
him  down  to  sell  the  things  he  made.  And 
Rudy  did  not  care  much  for  that ;  he  preferred 
scrambling  about  among  the  mountains,  or  sit- 
ting at  home  with  his  grandfather,  and  hearing 
him  tell  stories  of  olden  days,  and  of  the  peo- 
ple near  by  at  Meyringen,  from  whence  he 
came.  "  This  tribe  had  not  been  settled  there 
from  the  earliest  ages  of  the  world,"  he  said ; 
"  they  were  wanderers  from  afar ;  they  had  come 
from  the  distant  Xorth,  where  their  race  still 
dwelt,  and  were  called  '  Swedes.' "  This  was  a 
great  deal  for  Rudy  to  learn,  but  he  learned 
more  from  other  som'ces,  and  these  were  the 


LITTLE   EUDT.  15 

animals  domiciled  in  the  liouse.  One  was  a 
large  dog,  Ajola,  a  legacy  from  Kudy's  father — 
the  other  a  tomcat.  Rudy  had  much  for  which 
to  thank  the  latter — ^he  had  taught  him  to  climb. 

"  Come  out  upon  the  roof  with  me !"  the  cat 
had  said,  distinctly  and  intelligibly ;  for  when 
one  is  a  young  child,  and  can  scarcely  speak, 
fowls  and  ducks,  cats  and  dogs,  are  almost  as 
easily  understood  as  the  language  that  fathers 
and  mothers  use.  One  must  be  very  little  in- 
deed then,  however ;  it  is  the  time  when  grand- 
papa's stick  neighs,  and  becomes  a  horse  with 
head,  legs,  and  tail. 

Some  children  retain  these  infantine  thoughts 
longer  than  others ;  and  of  these  it  is  said  that 
they  are  very  backward,  exceedingly  stupid 
children — people  say  so  much ! 

"Come  out  upon  the  roof  with  me,  little 
Kudy !"  was  one  of  the  fii'st  things  the  cat  said, 
and  Rudy  understood  him. 

"It  is  all  nonsense  to  fancy  one  must  fall 
down;  you  won't  fell  uuless  you  are  afraid. 
Come!  set  one  of  your  paws  here,  the  other 
there,  and  take  care  of  yourself  with  the  rest 
of  your  paws !  Keep  a  sharp  look-out,  and  be 
active  in  your  limbs !  If  there  be  a  hole,  spring 
over  it,  and  keep  a-firm  footing,  as  I  do." 


16  LITTLE   RUDY. 

And  so  also  did  little  Rudy ;  often  and  often 
lie  sat  on  the  slielving  roof  of  the  house  with  the 
cat,  and  often  too  on  the  tops  of  the  trees ;  but 
he  sat  also  higher  up  among  the  towering  rocks, 
which  the  cat  did  not  ffequent. 

"  Higher !  higher !"  said  the  trees  and  the 
bushes.  "  Do  you  not  see  how  we  climb 
up — to  what  height  we  go,  and  how  fast  we 
hold  on,  even  among  the  narrowest  points  of 
rock  ?" 

And  Rudy  gained  the  top  of  the  hill  earlier 
than  the  sun  had  gained  it ;  and  there  he  took 
his  morning  draught,  the  fresh  invigorating 
mountain  aii- — that  drink  which  only  our  Loed 
can  prepare,  and  which  mankind  pronounces  to 
be  the  early  fragrance  from  the  mountain  herbs, 
and  the  wild  thyme  and  mint  in  the  valley. 
All  that  is  heavy  the  overhanging  clouds  ab- 
sorb within  themselves,  and  the  winds  carry 
them  over  the  pine  woods,  wliile  the  spirit  of 
fragrance  becomes  air — light  and  fresh  ;  and 
this  was  Rudy's  morning  draught. 

The  sunbeams — those  daughters  of  the  sun, 
who  bring  blessings  with  them — kissed  his 
cheeks ;  and  dizziness  stood  near  on  the  watch, 
but  dared  not  approach  him  ;  and  the  swallows 
from  his  grandfather's  house  beneath  (there 


JTl^^ 


The  Young  (Toaiherd. 


LITTLE  KUDY.  17 

were  not  less  tlian  seven  nests)  flew  up  to  Mm 
and  the  goats,  singing,  "  We  and  you,  and  you 
and  we !"  They  brought  him  greetings  from 
his  home,  even  from  the  two  hens,  the  only 
birds  in  the  establishment,  though  Rudy  was 
not  intimate  with  them. 

Young  as  he  was,  he  had  travelled,  and 
travelled  a  good  deal  for  such  a  little  fellow. 
He  was  born  in  the  Canton  of  Yalais,  and 
brought  from  thence  over  the  hills.  He  had 
visited  on  foot  Staubbach,  that  seems  like  a 
silver  veil  to  flutter  before  the  snow-clad,  glit- 
tering white  mountain  Jungfrau.  And  he  had 
been  at  the  great  glaciers  near  Grindelwald, 
but  that  was  connected  with  a  sad  event ;  his 
mother  had  found  her  death  there,  and  there, 
his  grandfather  used  to  say,  "little  Rudy  had 
got  all  his  childish  merriment  knocked  out  of 
him."  Before  the  child  was  a  year  old,  "he 
laughed  more  than  he  cried,"  his  mother  had 
written ;  but  from  the  time  that  he  fell  into  the 
crevasse  in  the  ice,  his  disposition  had  entirely 
changed.  The  grandfather  did  not  say  much 
about  this  in  general,  but  the  whole  hill  knew 
the  fact. 

Rudy's  father  had  been  a  postilion,  and  the 
large  dog  who  now  shared  Rudy's  home  had 
2* 


18  LITTLE   r;iroT. 

always  accompanied  him  in  liis  journeys  over 
the  Simplon  down  to  the  Lake  of  Geneva. 
Eudy's  kindred  on  his  father's  side  lived  in  the 
valley  of  the  Rhone,  in  the  Canton  Yalais ;  his 
uncle  was  a  celebrated  chamois-hunter,  and  a 
well-known  Alpine  guide.  Hudy  was  not  more 
than  a  year  old  when  he  lost  his  father ;  and 
his  mother  was  anxious  to  return  with  her 
child  to  her  own  family  in  the  Bernese  Ober- 
land.  Her  father  dwelt  at  the  distance  of  a 
few  hom-s'  journey  from  Grindelwald ;  he  was 
a  carver  in  wood,  and  he  made  so  much  by  this 
that  he  was  very  well  ofi". 

Cari'ying  her  infant  in  her  arms,  she  set  out 
homewards  in  the  month  of  June,  in  company 
with  two  chamois-hunters,  over  the  Gemmi  to 
reach  Grindelwald.  They  had  accomplished 
the  greater  portion  of  the  journey,  had  crossed 
the  highest  ridges  to  the  snow-fields,  and  could 
already  see  her  native  valley,  with  all  its  well- 
known  scattered  brown  cottages ;  they  had  now 
only  the  labor  of  going  over  the  upper  part  of 
one  great  glacier.  The  snow  had  recently  fall- 
en, and  concealed  a  crevasse — not  one  so  deep 
as  to  reach  to  the  abyss  below  where  the  water 
foamed  along,  but  deeper  far  than  the  height  of 
:any  human  being.     The  young  woman  who 


LITTLE   EUDT.  19 

was  carrjing  lier  infant  slipped,  sank  in,  and 
suddenly  disappeared ;  not  a  shriek,  not  a  groan 
was  heard — nothing  but  the  crying  of  a  little 
child.  Upwards  of  an  hour  elapsed  before  her  two 
companions  were  able  to  obtain  from  the  nearest 
house  ropes  and  poles  to  assist  them  in  extri- 
cating her ;  and  it  was  with  much  difficulty  and 
labor  that  they  brought  up  from  the  crevasse 
two  dead  bodies,  as  they  thought.  Every  means 
of  restoring  animation  was  employed,  and  they 
were  successful  in  recalling  the  child  to  life, 
but  not  the  mother ;  and  so  the  old  grandfather 
received  into  his  house,  not  a  daughter,  but  a 
daughter's  son — the  little  one  who  "  laughed 
.  more  than  he  cried."  But  a  change  seemed  to 
have  come  over  him  since  he  had  been  in  the 
glacier-spalten — in  the  cold  underground  ice- 
world,  where  the  souls  of  the  condemned  are 
imprisoned  until  Doom's  day,  as  the  Swiss  peas- 
ants assert. 

IS'ot  unlike  a  imshing  stream,  frozen  and 
pressed  into  blocks  of  green  crystal,  lies  the 
glacier,  one  great  mass  of  ice  balanced  upon 
another ;  in  the  depths  beneath  tears  along  the 
accumulating  stream  of  melted  ice  and  snow ; 
deep  hollows,  immense  crevasses,  yawn  within 
it.     A  wondrous  palace  of  crystal  it  is,  and  in 


20  LITTLE  EUDT. 

it  dwells  tlie  Ice-maiden — the  qneen  of  the  gla- 
ciers. She,  the  slayer,  the  crusher,  is  half  the 
mighty  ruler  of  the  rivers,  half  a  child  of  the 
air ;  therefore  she  is  able  to  soar  to  the  highest 
haunts  of  the  chamois,  to  the  loftiest  peaks 
of  the  snow-covered  hills,  where  the  boldest 
mountaineer  has  to  cut  footsteps  for  himself  in 
the  ice ;  she  sails  on  the  slightest  sprig  of  the 
pine-tree  over  the  raging  torrents  below,  and 
bounds  lightly  from  one  mass  of  ice  to  another, 
with  her  long  snow-white  hair  fluttering  about 
her,  and  her  bluish-green  robe  shining  like  the 
water  in  the  deep  Swiss  lakes. 

"To  crush  —  to  hold  fast — such  power  is 
mine!"  she  cries;  "yet  a  beautiful  boy  was 
snatched  from  me — a  boy  whom  I  had  kissed, 
but  not  kissed  to  death.  He  is  again  among 
mankind ;  he  tends  the  goats  upon  the  moun- 
tain heights ;  he  is  always  climbing  higher  and 
higher  still,  away,  away  from  other  human  be- 
ings, but  not  for  me !  He  is  mine — I  wait  for 
him !" 

And  she  commanded  Yertigo  to  undertake 
the  mission.  It  was  in  summer-time ;  the  Ice- 
maiden  was  melting  in  the  green  valley  where 
the  wild  mint  grew,  and  Yertigo  mounted  and 
dived.   Yertigo  has  several  sisters,  quite  a  fl.ock 


LITTLE  EUDT.  21 

of  tliem,  and  tlie  Ice-maiden  selected  the  strong- 
est among  the  many  who  exercise  their  powers 
within  doors  and  without — those  who  sit  on 
the  banisters  of  steep  staircases  and  the  outer 
rails  of  lofty  towers,  who  bound  like  squirrek 
along  the  mountain  ridges,  and  springing  thence, 
tread  the  air  as  the  swimmer  treads  the  water, 
and  lure  their  victims  onward,  down  to  the 
abyss  beneath, 

Yertigo  and  the  Ice-maiden  both  grasp  after 
mankind,  as  the  polypus  grasps  after  all  that 
comes  within  its  reach.  Yertigo  was  to  seize 
Rudy. 

"  Seize  him,  indeed !"  cried  Yertigo ;  "  I 
cannot  do  it !  That  good-for-nothing  cat  has 
taught  him  its  art.  Yon  child  of  the  human 
race  possesses  a  power  within  himself  which 
keeps  me  at  a  distance.  I  cannot  reach  the 
little  urchin  when  he  hangs  from  the  branches 
out  over  the  depths  below,  or  I  would  will- 
ingly loosen  his  hold,  and  send  him  whirling 
down  thi'ough  the  air.     But  I  cannot." 

"  "We  must  seize  him,  though !"  said  the  Ice- 
maiden,  "  either  you  or  I !     I  will — I  will !" 

"  jSTo — no !"  broke  upon  the  air,  like  a  moun- 
tain echo  of  the  church-bell's  peal ;  but  it  was 
a  whisper,  it  was  a  song,  it  was  the  liquid  tones 


23  LITTLE   EUDY, 

of  a  chorus  from  other  spirits  of  nature — mild, 
soft,  and  loving,  the  daughters  of  the  rajs  oi 
the  sun.  Tliej  station  themselves  every  even- 
ing in  a  circle  upon  the  moimtain-peaks,  and 
spread  out  their  rose-tinted  wings,  which,  as 
the  sun  sinks,  become  redder  and  redder,  until 
the  loftj  Alps  seem  all  in  a  blaze.  Men  call 
this  the  Alpine  glow.  When  the  sun  has  sunk, 
they  retire  within  the  white  snow  on  the  crests 
of  the  hills,  and  sleep  there  until  sunrise,  when 
they  come  forth  again.  Much  do  they  love 
flowers,  butterflies,  and  mankind ;  and  among 
the  latter  they  had  taken  a  great  fancy  for  little 
Budy. 

"  You  shall  not  imprison  him — you  shall  not 
get  him  !"  they  sang. 

"  Greater  and  stronger  have  I  seized  and  im- 
prisoned," said  the  Ice-maiden. 

Then  sang  the  daughters  of  the  sun  of  the 
wanderer  whose  hat  the  whii'lwind  tore  from 
his  head,  and  carried  away  in  its  stormy  flight. 
The  wind  could  take  his  cap,  but  not  the  man 
himself — no,  it  could  make  him  tremble  with 
its  violence,  but  it  could  not  sweep  him  away. 
"  The  human  race  is  stronger  and  more  ethe- 
real even  than  we  are ;  they  alone  may  mount 
higher  than  even  the  sun,  our  parent.     They 


LITTLE   KUDY.  23 

know  the  magic  words  that  can  rule  the  wind 
and  the  waves  so  that  they  are  compelled  to 
obey  and  to  serve  them.  You  loosen  the 
heavy  oppressive  weight,  and  they  soar  up- 
wards." 

Thus  sang  the  sweet  tones  of  the  bell-like 
chorus. 

And  every  morning  the  sun's  rays  shone 
through  the  one  little  window  in  the  grand- 
father's house  upon  the  quiet  child.  The- 
daughters  of  the  rays  of  the  sun  kissed  him — 
they  wished  to  thaw,  to  obliterate  the  ice-kiss 
that  the  queenly  maiden  of  the  glaciers  had 
given  him,  when,  in  his  dead  mother's  lap,  he 
lay  in  the  deep  crevasse  of  ice  from  which  al- 
most as  by  a  miracle  he  had  been  rescued. 


THE  JOUKKEY 


THE    NEW   HOME. 


/^^TJDT  was  now  eight  years  of  age. 
His  father's  brother,  who  lived  in  the 
valley  of  the  Khone,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  mountain,  wished  to  have  the 
boy,  as  he  conld  be  better  educated 
and  taught  to  do  for  himself  there ; 
so,  also,  thought  the  grandfather,  and 
he,  therefore,  agreed  to  part  with  him. 

The  time  for  Rudy's  departure  di-ew  nigh. 
There  were  many  more  to  take  leave  of  tha,n 
only  his  grandfather.  First  there  was  Ajola, 
the  old  dog. 

"Yom-  father  was  the  postilion,  and  I  was 
tlie  postilion's  dog,"  said  Ajola.  "We  have 
often  journeyed  up  and  down,  and  I  know  both 
dogs  and  men  on  both  sides  of  the  mountains. 
It  has  not  been  my  habit  to  speak  much,  but 


LITTLE   EUDT.  25 

now  that  we  shall  have  so  short  a  time  for  con- 
versation, I  will  say  a  little  more  than  nsnal, 
and  will  relate  to  you  something  upon  which  I 
have  ruminated  a  great  deal.  I  cannot  under- 
stand it,  nor  can  you ;  but  that  is  of  no  conse- 
quence. But  I  have  gathered  this  from  it — 
that  the  good  things  of  this  world  are  not  dealt 
out  equally  either  to  dogs  or  to  mankind ;  all 
are  not  born  to  lie  in  laps  or  to  drink  milk.  I 
have  never  been  accustomed  to  such  indul- 
gences. But  I  have  seen  a  whelp  of  a  little 
dog  travelling  in  the  inside  of  a  post-chaise, 
occupying  a  man's  or  a  woman's  seat,  and  the 
lady  to  whom  he  belonged,  or  whom  he  gov- 
erned, carried  a  bottle  of  milk,  from  which  she 
helped  him ;  she  also  offered  him  sponge-cakes, 
but  he  would  not  condescend  to  eat  them ;  he 
only  sniffed  at  them,  so  she  ate  them  herself. 
I  was  running  in  the  sun  by  the  side  of  the 
carriage,  as  hungry  as  a  dog  could  be,  but  / 
had  only  to  chew  the  cud  of  bitter  reflection. 
Things  were  not  so  justly  meted  out  as  they 
might  have  been — but  when  are  they?  May 
you  come  to  drive  in  carriages,  and  lie  in  for- 
tune's lap ;  but  you  can't  bring  all  this  about 
yourself.  I  never  could,  either  by  barking  or 
growling."  3 


26  LITTLE   EUDT. 

This  was  Ajola's  discourse ;  and  Rudy  threw 
liis  arms  ronnd  his  neck  and  kissed  him  on  his 
wet  month ;  and  then  he  canght  up  the  cat  in 
his  arms,  but  the  animal  was  angry  at  tliis,  and 
exclaimed,  "  You  are  getting  too  strong  for 
me,  but  I  will  not  use  my  claws  against  you. 
Sciamble  away  over  the  mountains — I  have 
taught  you  how  to  do  so ;  never  think  of  fall- 
ing, but  hold  fast,  have  no  fear,  and  you  will 
be  safe  enough." 

And  the  cat  sprang  down  and  ran  off,  for  he 
did  not  wish  Rudy  to  see  how  sorry  he  was. 

The  hens  hopped  upon  the  floor;  one  of 
them  had  lost  her  tail,  for  a  traveller,  who 
chose  to  play  the  sportsman,  had  shot  off  her 
tail,  mistaking  the  poor  fowl  for  a  bird  of  prey. 

"  Rudy  is  going  over  the  hills,"  mm'mured 
one  of  the  hens. 

"  He  is  in  a  hurry,"  said  the  other,  "  and  I 
don't  like  leave-takings,"  and  they  both  hopped 
out. 

The  goats  also  bleated  their  farewells,  and 
very  sorry  they  were. 

Just  at  that  time  there  were  two  active 
guides  about  to  cross  the  mountains  ;  they  pro- 
posed descending  the  other  side  of  the  Gemmi, 
and  Rudy  was  to  accompany  them  on  foot. 


LITTLE   EUDT.  2Y ' 

It  was  a  long  and  laborious  journey  for  sucli  a 
little  fellow,  but  be  had  a  good  deal  of  strength, 
and  had  courage  that  was  indomitable. 

The  swallows  flew  a  little  way  with  him, 
and  sang  to  him,  "  We  and  you,  and  you 
and  we !" 

The  travellers'  path  led  across  the  rushing 
Liitschine,  which  in  numerous  small  streams 
falls  from  the  dark  clefts  of  the  Grindelwald 
glaciers.  The  trunks  of  feJlen  trees  and  frag- 
ments of  rock  serve  here  as  bridges.  They 
had  soon  passed  the  thicket  of  alders,  and 
commenced  to  ascend  the  mountain,  close  to 
where  the  glaciers  had  loosened  themselves 
fi'om  the  side  of  the  hill ;  and  they  went  upon 
the  glacier  over  the  blocks  of  ice,  and  romid 
them. 

Kudy  crept  here,  and  walked  there ;  his  eyes 
sparkling  with  joy,  as  he  firmly  placed  his  iron- 
tipped  mountain-shoe  wherever  he  could  find 
footing  for  it.  The  small  patches  of  black 
earth,  which  the  mountain  torrents  had  cast 
upon  the  glacier,  imparted  to  it  a  burned  ap- 
pearance, but  still  the  bluish-green,  glass-like 
ice  shown  out  visibly.  They  had  to  go  round 
the  little  pools  which  were  dammed  up,  as  it 
were,  amidst  detached  masses  of  ice;  and  in 


28  LITTLE   EUDY. 

tliis  circuitous  route  they  approached  an  im- 
mense stone,  which  hiy  rocking  on  the  edge 
of  a  crevasse  in  the  ice.  Tlie  stone  lost  its 
equipoise,  toppled  over,  and  rolled  do\^ai ; 
and  the  echo  of  its  thundering  fall  resounded 
faintly  from  the  glacier's  deep  abyss,  far — far 
beneath. 

Upwards,  always  upwards,  they  journeyed 
on ;  the  glacier  itself  stretched  upwards,  like  a 
continued  stream  of  masses  of  ice  piled  up  in 
wild  confusion,  amidst  bare  and  rugged  rocks, 
Kudy  remembered,  for  a  moment,  w^hat  had 
been  told  him — that  he,  with  his  mother,  had 
lain  buried  in  one  of  these  cold,  mysterious  fis- 
sures ;  but  he  soon  threw  oflP  such  gloomy 
thoughts,  and  only  looked  upon  the  tale  as  one 
among  the  many  fables  he  had  heard.  Once 
or  twice,  when  the  men  with  whom  he  was 
travelling  thought  that  it  was  rather  difficult 
for  so  little  a  boy  to  mount  \xp,  they  held  out 
their  hands  to  help  him ;  but  he  never  needed 
any  assistance,  and  he  stood  upon  the  glacier 
as  securely  as  if  he  had  been  a  chamois  it- 
self. 

Now  they  came  upon  rocky  ground,  some- 
times amidst  mossy  stones,  sometimes  amidst  low 
pine-trees,  and  again  out  upon  the  green  pas- 


LITTLE   EUDT.  29 

tures — always  dianging,  always  new.  Aroimd 
tliem  towered  lofty  snow-clad  mountains,  those 
of  which  every  child  in  the  neighborhood 
knows  the  names — Jungfran,  the  Monk,  and 
Eiger. 

Eudy  had  never  before  been  so  far  from  his 
home — never  before  beheld  the  wide-spreading 
ocean  of  snow  that  lay  with  its  immovable  bil- 
lows of  ice,  from  which  the  wind  occasionally 
swept  little  clouds  of  powdery  snow,  as  it 
sweeps  the  scum  from  the  waves  of  the  sea. 
Glacier  stretched  close  to  glacier — one  might 
have  said  they  were  hand  in  hand ;  and  each  is 
a  crystal  palace  belonging  to  the  Ice-maiden, 
whose  pleasure  and  occupation  it  is  to  seize 
and  imprison  her  victims. 

The  sun  was  shining  warmly,  and  the  snow 
dazzled  the  eyes  as  if  it  had  been  strewn  with 
flashing  pale-blue  diamond  sparks.  Innumer- 
able insects,  especially  butterflies  and  bees, 
lay  dead  in  masses  on  the  snow;  they  had 
winged  their  way  too  high,  or  else  the  wind 
had  carried  them  upwards  to  the  regions,  for 
them,  of  cold  and  death.  Around  Wetterhorn 
hung  what  might  be  likened  to  a  large  tuft  of 
very  fine  dark  wool,  a  threatening  cloud;  it 
Bank,  bulging  out  with  what  it  had  concealed 
3* 


30  LITTLE   EUDT. 

ill  itself — a  Foliii,  -  fearfully  violent  in  its  might 
wlien  it  should  break  loose. 

The  whole  of  this  journey — the  night  quar- 
ters above — the  wild  track — the  mountain  clefts, 
where  the  water,  during  an  incalculably  long 
period  of  time,  had  penetrated  through  the 
blocks  of  stone — made  an  indelible  impression 
upon  little  Eudy's  mind. 

A  forsaken  stone  building,  beyond  the  sea  of 
snow,  crave  the  travellers  sheltei-  for  the  nio;ht. 
Here  they  foimd  some  charcoal  and  branches 
of  pme-trees.  A  &e  was  soon  kindled,  couches 
of  some  kind  were  arranged  as  well  as  they 
could  be,  and  the  men  placed  themselves  near 
the  blazing  fire,  took  out  their  tobacco,  and  be- 
gan to  drink  the  warm  spiced  beverage  they 
had  prepared  for  themselves,  nor  did  they  for- 
get to  give  some  to  E-udy. 

The  conversation  fell  upon  the  mysterious 
beings  who  haunt  the  Alpine  land :  upon  the 
strange  gigantic  snakes  in  the  deep  lakes — the 
night-folks — the  spectre  host,  that  carry  sleep- 
ers off  through  the  air  to  the  wonderful,  almost 
floating  town  of  Venice — the  wild  herdsman, 

*  Fohn,  a  livunid  south  wind  on  the  Swiss  mountains 
and  lakes,  the  forerunner  of  a  storm. — Tkaj^slator. 


LITTLE   EUDT.  31 

"wlio  drives  his  black  slieep  over  tlie  green  pas- 
tures ;  if  these  had  not  been  seen,  the  sound  of 
their  bells  had  undoubtedly  been  heard,  and 
the  frightful  noise  made  by  the  phantom  herds. 

Rudy  listened  with  intense  curiosity  to  these 
superstitious  tales,  but  without  any  fear,  for 
that  he  did  not  know ;  and  while  he  listened, 
he  fancied  that  he  heard  the  uproar  of  the  wild 
spectral  herd.  Tes !  It  became  more  and 
more  distinct ;  the  men  heard  it  too.  They 
were  awed  into  silence ;  and  as  they  hearkened 
to  the  unearthly  noise,  they  whispered  to  Rudy 
that  he  must  not  sleep. 

It  was  a  Fohn  that  had  burst  forth — that 
violent  tempestuous  wind  which  issues  down- 
wards from  the  mountains  into  the  valley  be- 
neath, and  in  its  fiiiy  snaps  large  trees  as  if 
they  were  but  reeds,  and  carries  the  wooden 
houses  from  one  bank  of  a  river  to  the  other  as 
we  would  move  men  on  a  chess-board. 

After  an  hour  had  elapsed,  Rudy  was  told 
that  it  was  aU  over,  and  he  might  now  go  to 
sleep  safely;  and,  weary  with  his  long  walk, 
he  did  sleep,  as  if  in  duty  bound  to  do  so. 

At  a  very  early  hour  in  the  morning  the 
party  set  off  again.  The  sun  that  day  lighted 
up  for  Rudy  new  mountains,  new  glaciers,  and 


32  LTTTLE  EUDT. 

new  snow-fields.  They  had  entered  fhe  Can- 
ton Yalais,  and  were  upon  tlie  other  side  of  the 
ridge  of  hills  seen  from  Grindelwald,  yet  still 
far  from  his  new  home. 

Other  mountain  clefts,  other  pastures,  other 
woods,  and  other  hilly  paths  unfolded  them- 
selves ;  other  houses,  and  other  people,  too, 
Rudy  saw.  But  what  kind  of  human  beings 
were  these  ?  The  outcasts  of  fate  they  were, 
with  frightful,  disgusting,  yellowish  faces,  and 
necks  of  which  the  hideous  flesh  hung  down 
like  bags.  They  were  the  cretins — poor  dis- 
eased wretches,  dragging  themselves  along,  and 
looking  with  stupid,  lustreless  eyes  upon  the 
strangers  who  crossed  their  path — the  women 
even  more  disgusting  than  the  men.  "Were 
such  the  persons  who  sm-rounded  his  new 
home  i 


THE    UNCLE. 


)'N  Ms  imcle's  house,  when  Rudy  arrived 
there,  he  saw,  and  he  thanked  God  for 
it,  people  such  as  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  see.  There  was  only  one  cre- 
tin there,  a  poor  idiotic  lad:  one  of 
those  unfortunate  beings  who,  in  their 
poverty — in  fact,  in  their  utter  destitu- 
tion— go  by  turns  to  different  families,  and  re- 
main a  month  or  two  in  each  house.  Poor 
Saperli  happened  to  be  in  his  uncle's  house 
when  Rudy  arrived. 

The  uncle  was  a  bold  and  experienced  hunt- 
er, and  was,  also,  a  cooper  by  trade ;  his  wife,  a 
lively  little  woman,  with  a  face  something  like 
that  of  a  bird,  eyes  like  those  of  an  eagle,  and 
a  long  skinny  throat. 

Every  tiling  was  new  to  Rudy — the  di-ess, 
customs,  employments — even  the  language  it- 
self; but  his  childish  ear  would  soon  learn  to 


34  LITTLE   EUDT. 

■understand  that.  The  contrast  between  his 
home  at  his  grandfather's  and  his  uncle's  abode 
was  very  favorable  to  the  latter.  The  house 
was  larger ;  the  walls  were  adorned  by  horns 
of  the  chamois,  and  brightly  polished  gnns; 
a  painting  of  the  Yirgin  Mary  liung  over 
the  door,  and  fi-esh  Alpine  roses,  and  a  lamp 
that  was  kept  always  bm'ning,  were  placed  be- 
fore it. 

His  uncle,  as  has  been  told,  was  one  of  the 
most  renowned  chamois-hunters  of  the  district, 
and  was,  also,  one  of  the  best  and  most  expe- 
rienced of  the  guides. 

E-udy  became  the  pet  of  the  house  ;  but  there 
was  another  pet  as  well — a  blind,  lazy  old 
hound,  who  could  no  longer  be  of  any  use ; 
but  he  had  heen  useful,  and  the  worth  of  the 
animal  in  his  earlier  days  was  remembered,  and 
he,  therefore,  now  lived  as  one  of  the  family, 
and  had  every  comfort.  Rudy  patted  the  dog, 
but  the  animal  did  not  like  strangers,  and  as 
yet  Rudy  was  a  stranger ;  but  he  soon  won 
every  heart,  and  became  as  one  of  themselves. 

"  Things  don't  go  so  badly  in  Canton  Yalais," 
said  his  uncle.  "  We  have  plenty  of  chamois ; 
they  do  not  die  off  so  fast  as  the  wild  he-goats ; 
matters  are  much  better  now-a-days  than  in 


LITTLE   KUDT.  35 

the  old  times,  although  they  are  so  hepraised. 
A  hole  is  burst  in  the  bag,  and  we  have  a  cur- 
rent of  air  now  in  oui-  confined  valley.  Some- 
thing better  always  starts  up  when  antiquated 
things  are  done  away  with." 

The  uncle  became  quite  chatty,  and  dis- 
com'sed  to  the  boy  of  the  events  of  his  own 
boyhood  and  those  of  his  father.  Yalais  was 
then,  as  he  called  it,  only  a  receptacle  for  sick 
people — miserable  cretins;  "but  the  French 
soldiers  came,  and  they  made  capital  doctors ; 
they  soon  killed  the  disease,  and  the  patients 
with  it.  They  know  how  to  strike — ay,  how 
to  strike  in  many  ways — and  the  girls  could 
smite,  too !"  and  thereupon  the  uncle  nodded 
to  his  wife,  who  was  of  French  descent,  and 
laughed.  "  The  French  could  split  solid  stones 
if  they  chose.  It  was  they  who  cut  out  of  the 
rocks  the  road  over  the  Simplon — yes,  cut 
such  a  road  that  I  could  say  to  a  child  of  three 
years  of  age.  Go  down  to  Italy!  You  have 
but  to  keep  to  the  high  road,  and  you  find 
yourself  there."  The  good  man  then  sang  a 
French  romance,  and  wound  up  by  shouting 
"  hm'rah  !"  for  l^apoleon  Bonaparte. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Eudy  had  ever 
heard  of  France,  and  he  was  interested  in  hear- 


36  LITTLE   EUDT, 

ing  of  it,  especially  Lyons,  tliat  great  city  on 
the  river  Rhone,  where  his  uncle  had  been. 

The  uncle  prophesied  that  Rudy  would  be- 
come, in  a  few  years,  a  smart  chamois-hunter, 
as  he  had  quite  a  talent  for  it.  He  taught  the 
boy  to  hold,  load,  and  fii-e  a  gun  ;  he  took  him 
up  with  him,  in  the  hunting  season,  among  the 
hills,  and  made  him  drink  of  the  warm  cha- 
mois' blood,  to  ward  off  giddiness  from  the 
hunter ;  he  taught  him  to  know  the  time  when, 
upon  the  different  sides  of  the  mountains, 
avalanches  were  about  to  fall,  at  mid-day  or  in 
the  evening,  whenever  the  sun's  rays  took  ef- 
fect ;  he  taught  him  to  notice  the  movements 
of  the  chamois,  and  learn  their  spring,  so  that 
he  might  alight  on  his  feet  and  stand  firmly ; 
and  told  him  that  if  on  the  fissures  of  the  rock 
there  was  no  footing,  he  must  support  himself 
by  his  elbows,  and  exert  the  muscles  of  his 
thighs  and  the  calves  of  his  legs  to  hold  on  fast. 
Even  the  neck  could  be  made  of  use,  if  neces- 
sary. 

The  chamois  are  cunning,  and  place  outposts 
on  the  watch;  but  the  hunter  must  be  more 
cunning,  and  scent  them  out.  Sometimes  he 
might  cheat  them  by  hanging  up  his  hat  and 
coat  on  an  Alpine  staff  and  the  chamois  would 


LITTLE   KUDT.  37 

mistake  tlie  coat  for  the  man.  This  trick  the 
uncle  played  one  day  when  he  was  out  hunting 
with  Rudy. 

The  mountain  pass  was  narrow;  indeed, 
there  was  scarcely  a  path  at  all ;  scarcely  more 
than  a  slight  cornice  close  to  the  yawning 
abyss.  The  snow  that  lay  there  was  partially 
thawed,  and  the  stones  crumbled  away  when- 
ever they  were  trod  on.  So  the  uncle  laid 
himself  down  his  full  length,  and  crept  for 
ward.  Every  fragment  of  stone  that  broke  off, 
fell,  rolling,  and  knocking  from  one  side  of  the 
rocky  wall  to  another,  until  it  sank  to  rest  in 
the  dark  depths  below.  About  a  hundred 
pace's  behind  his  uncle  stood  Rudy,  upon  the 
verge  of  the  last  point  of  solid  rock ;  and  as  he 
stood,  he  saw  careering  through  the  air,  and 
hovering  just  over  his  uncle,  an  immense 
Lammergeier,  which,  with  the  tremendous 
stroke  of  its  wing,  would  speedily  cast  the 
creeping  worm  into  the  abyss  beneath,  there  to 
prey  upon  his  carcass. 

The  uncle  had  eyes  for  nothing  but  the 
chamois,  which,  with  its  young  kid,  had  ap- 
peared on  the  other  side  of  the  crevasse.  Rudy 
was  watching  the  bird  ;  well  did  he  know  what 
was  its  aim,  and,  therefore,  he  kept  his  hand 
4 


38  LITTLE   EUDY. 

on  tlie  gun  to  fire  tlie  moment  it  might  be  ne- 
cessary. Just  then  the  chamois  made  a  bound 
upwards;  Rudy's  uncle  fired,  and  the  animal 
was  hit  by  the  deadly  bullet,  but  the  kid  es- 
caped as  cleverly  as  if  it  had  had  a  long  life's 
experience  in  danger  and  flight.  The  enor- 
mous bird,  frightened  by  the  loud  report, 
wheeled  off"  in  another  direction ;  and  the  uncle 
was  freed  from  a  danger  of  which  he  was  quite 
unconscious  until  he  was  told  of  it  by  Rudy. 

As  in  high  good-humor  they  were  wending 
their  way  homewards,  and  the  uncle  was  hum- 
ming an  air  he  remembered  from  his  childish 
days,  they  suddenly  heard  a  peculiar  noise, 
which  seemed  to  come  from  no  great  distance. 
They  looked  round,  on  both  sides — they  looked 
upwards ;  and  there  in  the  heights  above,  on 
the  sloping  verge  of  the  mountain,  the  heavy 
covering  of  snow  was  lifted  up,  and  it  heaved 
as  a  sheet  of  linen  stretched  out  heaves  when 
the  wind  creeps  under  it.  The  lofty  mass 
cracked  as  if  it  had  been  a  marble  slab — it 
broke,  and  resolving  itself  into  a  foaming  cata- 
ract, came  rushing  down  with  a  rambling  noise 
like  that  of  distant  thunder.  It  was  an  ava- 
lanche that  had  fallen,  not  indeed  over  Rudy 
and  his  uncle,  but  near  them — all  too  near ' 


LITTLE   EUDY.  39 

"  Hold  fast,  Eudy — hold  fast  with  all  your 
might !"  cried  his  uncle. 

And  Rudy  threw  his  arms  round  the  trunk 
of  a  tree  that  was  close  by,  while  his  uncle 
climbed  above  him  and  held  fast  to  the  branches 
of  the  tree.  The  avalanche  rolled  past  at  a 
little  distance  from  them,  but  the  gust  of  wind 
that  swept  like  the  tail  of  a  hm'ricane  after  it, 
rattled  around  the  trees  and  bushes,  snapped 
them  asunder  as  if  they  had  been  but  dry 
rushes,  and  cast  them  down  in  all  directions. 
Budy  was  dashed  to  the  ground,  for  the  trunk 
of  the  tree  to  which  he  had  clung  was  thus 
overthrown;  the  upper  part  was  flung  to  a 
great  distance.  There,  amidst  the  shattered 
branches,  lay  his  poor  uncle,  with  his  skull 
fractured !  His  hand  was  still  warm,  but  it 
would  have  been  impossible  to  recognize  his 
face.  Rudy  stood  pale  and  trembling  ;  it  was 
the  first  shock  in  his  young  life — the  first  mo- 
ment he  had  ever  felt  terror. 

Late  in  the  evening  he  reached  his  home 
with  the  fatal  tidings — ^his  home  which  was 
now  to  be  the  abode  of  sorrow.  The  bereaved 
wife  stood  like  a  statue — she  did  not  utter  a 
word — she  did  not  shed  a  tear;  and  it  was 
not  until  the  corpse  was  brought  in  that  her 


40  LITTLE   EUDY. 

grief  found  its  natural  vent.  The  poor  cretin 
stole  away  to  his  bed,  and  nothing  was  seen  of 
him  during  the  whole  of  the  next  day ;  towards 
evening  he  came  to  Rudy. 

"  Will  you  write  a  letter  for  me  ?"  he  asked. 
"  Saperli  cannot  write — Saperli  can  only  go 
down  to  the  post-office  with  the  letter." 

"A  letter  for  you ?"  exclaimed  Rudy ;  "  and 
to  whom  ?" 

"  To  our  Lord  Christ !" 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?" 

And  the  half-idiot,  as  the  cretin  was  called, 
looked  with  a  most  touching  expression  at 
Rudy,  clasped  his  hands,  and  said  solemnly 
and  reverentially — 

"  Jesus  Chi'ist !  Saperli  would  send  Him  a 
letter  to  pray  of  Him  that  Saperli  may  lie 
dead,  and  not  the  good  master  of  the  house 
here." 

And  Rudy  took  his  hand  and  wrimg  it. 
"  That  letter  would  not  reach  up  yonder — that 
letter  would  not  restore  to  us  hun  we  have 
lost." 

But  Rudy  fomid  it  very  difficult  to  con\Tnce 
Saperli  of  the  impossibility  of  his  wishes. 

"  j:^ow  you  must  be  the  support  of  the  house," 
said  his  aunt  to  him  j  and  Rudy  became  such. 


BABETTE. 


HO  is  tlie  best  marksman  in  the  Can- 
ton Yalais  ?  The  chamois  well  know 
— "  Save  yourselves  from  Rudy !" 
they  might  have  said.  And  "  who  is 
the  handsomest  marksman  ?"  "  Oh ! 
it  is  E-udy!"  said  the  girls.  But 
they  did  not  add,  "  Save  yourselves 
from  Rudy ;"  neither  did  the  sober  mothers  say 
so,  for  he  bowed  as  politely  to  them  as  to  the 
young  girls.  He  was  so  brave  and  so  joyous, 
his  cheeks  so  browD,  his  teeth  so  white,  his 
dark  eyes  so  sparkling.  A  handsome  young 
man  he  was,  and  only  twenty  years  of  age. 
The  most  ice-chill  water  never  seemed  too  cold 
for  him  when  he  was  swimming — in  fact,  he 
was  like  a  fish  in  the  water ;  he  could  climb 
better  than  any  one  else ;  he  could  also  cling 
fast,  like  a  snail,  to  the  wall  of  rock.     There 

were  good  muscles  and  sinews  in  him;  this 
4* 


42  LITTLE    RUDY. 

was  quite  evident  whenever  he  made  a  spring. 
He  had  learned  first  from  the  cat  hoAV  to  spring, 
and  from  the  chamois  afterwards.  Rudy  had 
the  reputation  of  being  the  best  guide  on  the 
mountain,  and  he  could  have  made  a  great  deal 
of  money  by  this  occupation.  His  uncle  had 
also  taught  him  the  cooper's  trade,  but  he  had 
no  inclination  for  that.  He  cared  for  nothing 
but  chamois-hunting ;  in  this  he  delighted,  and 
it  also  brought  in  money.  Rudy  would  be  an 
excellent  match,  it  was  said,  if  he  only  did  not 
look  too  high.  He  was  such  a  good  dancer 
that  the  girls  who  were  his  partners  often 
dreamt  of  him,  and  more  than  one  let  her 
thoughts  dwell  on  him  even  after  she  awoke. 

"  He  kissed  me  in  the  dance  !"  said  Annette, 
the  schoolmaster's  daughter,  to  her  dearest 
friend ;  but  she  should  not  have  said  this  even 
to  her  dearest  friend.  Such  secrets  are  seldom 
kept — like  sand  in  a  bag  that  has  holes,  they 
ooze  out.  Therefore,  however  well  behaved 
Rudy  might  be,  it  was  soon  spread  about  that 
he  kissed  in  the  dance ;  and  yet  he  had  never 
kissed  her  whom  he  would  have  liked  to  kiss. 

"  Take  care  of  him !"  said  an  old  himter ; 
"  he  has  kissed  Annette.  He  has  begun  with 
A,  and  he  will  kiss  through  the  whole  alphabet." 


LITTLE  RUDY,  43 

A  kiss  in  tlie  dance  was  all  that  tlie  gossips 
could  find  to  bring  against  Rudy ;  but  he  cer- 
tainly had  kissed  Annette,  and  yet  she  was  not 
the  flower  of  his  heart. 

Below,  at  Bex,  amidst  the  great  walnut-trees, 
close  to  a  small  rushing  mountain  stream,  lived 
the  rich  miller.  His  dwelling-house  was  a 
large  building  of  three  stories  high,  with  small 
turrets ;  its  roof  was  composed  of  shavings  of 
wood  covered  with  tinned  iron  plates,  which 
shone  in  sunshine  and  moonshine ;  on  the  high- 
est turret  was  a  vane,  a  glittering  arrow  passed 
through  an  apple,  in  allusion  to  Tell's  cele- 
brated arrow-shot.  The  mill  was  a  conspicuous 
object,  and  permitted  itself  to  be  sketched  or 
written  about;  but  the  miller's  daughter  did 
not  permit  hereelf  to  be  described  in  writing  or 
to  be  sketched — so  at  least  Kudy  would  have 
said.  And  yet  her  image  was  engraved  on  his 
heart ;  both  her  eyes  blazed  in  on  it,  so  that  it 
was  quite  in  flames.  The  fire  had,  like  other 
fires,  come  on  suddenly ;  and  the  strangest  part 
of  it  was,  that  the  miller's  daughter,  the  charm- 
ing Babette,  was  quite  ignorant  of  it,  for  she 
and  Rudy  had  never  spoken  so  much  as  two 
words  to  each  other. 

The  miller  was  rich,  and,  on  account  of  his 


44 


LITTLE   EFDT. 


"v^'ealtli,  Babette  was  rather  high  to  aspire  to, 
"  But  nothing  is  so  high,"  said  Kudy  to  him- 
self, "that  one  may  not  aspire  to  it.  One  must 
climb  perseveringly ;  and  if  one  has  confidence, 
one  does  not  fall."  He  had  received  this  teach- 
ing in  his  early  home. 

It  so  happened  that  Rudy  had  some  business 
to  transact  at  Bex.  It  was  a  long  journey  to 
that  place,  for  there  was  then  no  railroad. 
From  the  glaciers  of  the  Rhone,  immediately  at 
the  foot  of  the  Simplon,  among  many  and  often 
shifting  mountain  peaks,  stretches  the  broad 
valley  of  the  Canton  Yalais,  with  its  mighty 
river,  the  Rhone,  whose  waters  are  often  so 
swollen  as  to  overflow  its  banks,  inundating 
fields  and  roads,  and  destroying  all.  Between 
the  towns  of  Sion  and  St.  Maurice  the  valley 
takes  a  turn,  bending  like  an  elbow,  and  below 
St,  Maurice  becomes  so  narrow  that  there  is 
only  space  for  the  bed  of  the  river  and  the  con- 
fined carriage-road.  An  old  tower,  like  the 
guardian  of  the  Canton  Yalais,  which  ends 
here,  stands  on  the  side  of  the  mountain,  and 
commands  a  view  over  the  stone  bridge  to  the 
custom-house  on  the  other  side,  where  the 
Canton  Yaud  commences ;  and  nearest  of  the 
not   very   distant   towns   lies  Bex.      In   this 


LITTLE    RUDY.  45 

part,  at  every  step  forward,  are  displayed 
increased  fruitfulness  and  abundance ;  one  en 
ters,  as  it  were,  a  grove  of  chestnut  and  wal 
nut-trees.  Here  and  tliere  peep  forth  cy- 
presses and  pomegranates.  It  is  almost  as 
warm  tliere  as  in  Italy. 

Eudy  readied  Bex,  got  thi'ough  his  business, 
and  looked  about  him ;  but  not  a  soul  (puttiiig 
Babette  out  of  the  question)  belonging  to  the 
mill  did  he  see.     This  was  not  what  he  wanted. 

Evening  came  on;  the  air  was  filled  with 
the  perfume  of  the  wild  thyme  and  the  blos- 
soming lime-trees;  there  lay  what  seemed 
like  a  shining  sky-blue  veil  over  the  wooded 
green  hills;  a  stillness  reigned  around  —  not 
the  stillness  of  sleep,  not  the  stillness  of  death 
— ^no,  it  was  as  if  aU  nature  was  holding 
its  breath,  in  order  that  its  image  might  be 
photographed  upon  the  blue  surface  of  the 
heavens  above.  Here  and  there  amidst  the 
trees  stood  poles,  or  posts,  which  conveyed  the 
wires  of  the  telegraph  along  the  silent  valley  : 
close  against  one  of  these  leaned  an  object,  so 
motionless  that  one  might  have  thought  it  was 
the  decayed  trunk  of  a  tree ;  but  it  was  Rudy, 
who  was  standing  there,  as  still  as  was  all  around 
him  at  that  moment.     He  was  not  sleeping, 


46  LITTLE   EUDY. 

neither  was  lie  dead  ;  but,  as  ttiroiigli  the  wires 
of  the  telegraph  there  are  often  transmitted  the 
great  events  of  the  world,  and  matters  of  the 
utmost  importance  to  individuals,  without  the 
wires,  by  the  slightest  tremor  or  the  faintest 
tone,  betraying  them,  so  there  passed  through 
Kudy's  mind  anxious  overwhelming  thonghts, 
fraught  with  the  happiness  of  his  future  life, 
and  constituting,  from  this  time  forth,  his  one 
unchanging  aim.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  one 
point  before  him,  and  that  was  a  light  in  the 
j)arlor  of  the  miller's  house,  whe^'e  Babette  re- 
sided. Rudy  stood  so  still  that  one  might  have 
thought  he  was  on  the  watch  to  fire  at  a  cha- 
mois ;  but  he  was  himself  at  that  moment  like  a 
chamois,  which  one  minute  could  stand  as  if  it 
were  chiselled  out  of  the  rock,  and  suddenly,  if 
a  stone  but  rolled  past,  would  make  a  spring 
and  leave  the  hunter  in  the  lurch.  And  thus 
did  Rudy,  for  a  thought  rolled  through  his 
mind, 

" J^ever  despair !"  said  he ;  "a  visit  to  the 
mill,  say  good-evening  to  the  miller,  and  good- 
day  to  Babette.  One  does  not  fall  unless  one 
fears  to  do  so.  If  I  am  to  be  Babette's  hus- 
band, she  must  see  me  some  day  or  other." 

And  Rudy  laughed  and  made  up  his  mind 


LITTLE   EUDT. 


47 


to  go  to  the  miller's ;  he  knew  what  he  wanted, 
and  that  was  to  marry  Babette. 

The  stream,  with  its  yellowish-white  water, 
was  dashing  on;  the  willows  and  lime-trees 
hung  over  it.  Rndy,  as  it  stands  in  the  old 
nursery  rhyme. 

Found  to  the  miller's  house  Ms  way ; 
But  there  was  nobody  at  home, 
Except  a  pussy-cat  at  play ! 

The  cat,  which  was  standing  on  the  steps, 
put  up  its  back  and  mewed ;  but  Rudy  was  no 
way  inclined  to  listen  to  it.  He  knocked  at 
the  door ;  no  one  seemed  to  hear  him,  no  one 
answered.  The  cat  mewed  again.  Had  Kudy 
been  still  a  little  boy,  he  might  have  under- 
stood the  cat's  language,  and  heard  that  it  said 
"  No  one  is  at  home."  But  now  he  had  to  go 
to  the  mill  to  make  the  necessary  inquiries,  and 
there  he  was  told  that  the  master  had  gone  on 
a  long  journey  to  the  town  of  Interlaken — "  In- 
ter Lacus,  amidst  the  lakes,"  as  the  schoolmas- 
ter, Annette's  father,  in  his  great  learning,  had 
-  explained  the  name. 

Ah !  so  far  away,  then,  were  the  miller 
and  Babette?  There  was  a  great  shooting- 
match  to  be  held  at  Interlaken ;  it  was  to  begin 


1:8  LITTLE   EUDT, 

tlie  next  morning,  and  to  last  for  eight  clajs. 
The  Swiss  from  all  the  German  cantons  were 
to  assemble  there. 

Poor  Kudj  !  it  was  not  a  fortunate  time  for 
him  to  have  come  to  Bex.  He  had  only  to  re- 
tm-n  again ;  and  he  did  so,  taking  the  road 
over  St.  Maurice  and  Sion  to  his  own  valley, 
his  own  liills.  But  he  was  not  disheartened. 
When  the  snn  rose  next  morning  he  was  in 
high  spirits,  but  indeed  they  had  never  been 
depressed. 

"  Babette  is  at  Interlaken,  a  journey  of  many 
days  from  this,"  he  said  to  himself  "  It  is  a 
long  way  off  if  one  goes  by  the  circuitous  high- 
road, but  not  so  far  if  one  cuts  across  the  moun- 
tains, and  that  way  just  suits  a  chamois-hmiter. 
I  have  gone  that  way  before ;  over  yonder  lies 
my  early  home,  where,  as  a  little  boy,  I  lived 
with  my  grandfather.  And  there  are  shooting- 
matches  at  Interlaken ;  I  shall  take  my  place 
as  the  first  there,  and  there  also  shall  I  be 
with  Babette,  when  I  become  acquainted  with 
her." 

Carrying  his  light  knapsack,  with  his  Sunday 
finery  in  it,  with  his  musket  and  game-bag, 
Eudy  went  up  the  mountain  the  shortest  way, 
yet  still  tolerably  long ;  but  the  shooting  match- 


LITTLE  EUDT.  49. 

es  were  only  to  commence  that  day,  and  were- 
to  continue  for  a  week.  During  all  tliat  time, 
he  had  been  assured,  the  miller  and  Babette: 
would  stay  with  their  relatives  at  Interlaken. 
So  over  the  Gemmi  trudged  Rudy:  he  pro- 
posed descending  near  Grindelwald. 

In  high  health  and  spirits  he  set  off,  enjoying, 
the  fresh,  pure,  and  invigorating  mountain  air. 
The  valleys  sank  deeper,  the  horizon  became 
more  extensive;  here  a  snow-crested  summit, 
there  another,  and  speedily  the  whole  of  the 
bright  shining  Alpine  range  became  visible. 
Rudy  knew  well  every  ice-clad  peak.  He  kept 
his  course  opposite  to  Schreckhorn,  which  raised 
its  white-powdered  stone  finger  high  towards 
the  blue  vault  above. 

At  length  he  had  crossed  the  loftier  moun- 
tain ridge.  The  pasture-lands  sloped  down 
towards  the  valley  that  was  his  former  home. 
The  air  was  pleasant,  his  thoughts  were  pleas- 
ant ;  hill  and  dale  were  blooming  with  flowers 
and  verdure,  and  his  heart  was  full  of  the 
glowing  dreams  of  youth ;  he  felt  as  if  old  age, 
as  if  death,  were  never  to  approach  him ;  life, 
power,  enjoyment,  were  before  him.  Free  as  a 
bird,  light  as  a  bird,  was  Rudy ;  and  the  swal- 
lows flew  past  him,  and  sang  as  in  the  days  of 
5 


50  LITTLE  EUDY. 

liis  cliildliood,  "  We  and  you,  and  you  and  we !" 
All  was  motion  and  pleasure. 

Beneath  lay  tlie  green  velvet  meadows,  dot- 
ted with  brown  wooden  houses ;  the  river  Liit- 
schine  rushed  foaming  along.  He  saw  the  gla- 
cier with  its  borders  like  green  glass  edging 
the  dirty  snow,  and  he  saw  the  deep  chasms, 
while  the  sound  of  the  church-bells  came  upon 
his  ear,  as  if  they  were  ringing  a  welcome  to 
his  old  home.  His  heart  beat  rapidly,  and  his 
mind  became  so  full  of  old  recollections  that 
for  a  moment  he  almost  forgot  Babette. 

He  was  again  traversing  the  same  road  where, 
as  a  little  boy,  he  had  stood  along  with  other 
children  to  sell  their  carved  wooden  toy  horses. 
Yonder,  above  the  pine-trees,  still  stood  his 
grandfather's  house,  but  strangers  dwelt  there 
now.  The  children  came  running  after  him, 
as  foi-merly;  they  wished  to  sell  their  little 
wares.  One  of  them  offered  him  an  Alpine 
rose.  Rudy  took  it  as  a  good  omen,  and  thought 
of  Babette.  He  had  soon  crossed  the  bridge 
where  the  two  Liitschines  unite,  and  reached 
the  smiling  country  where  the  walnut  and  other 
embowering  trees  afford  grateful  shade.  He 
soon  perceived  waving  flags,  and  beheld  the 
white  cross  on  the  red  ground — the  standard  of 


LITTLE  EUDT.  51 

tlie  Swiss  as  of  the  Danes — and  before  him  lay 
Interlaken. 

Eudy  thought  it  was  certainly  a  splendid 
town — a  Swiss  town  in  its  holiday  dress.  It 
was  not,  like  other  market  towns,  a  heap  ot 
heavy  stone  houses,  stiff,  foreign-looking,  and 
aiming  at  grandeur ;  no !  it  looked  as  if  the 
wooden  houses  from  the  hills  above  had  taken 
a  start  into  the  green  valley  beneath,  with  its 
clear  stream  whose  waters  rushed  swiftly  as 
an  arrow,  and  had  ranged  themselves  into  rows 
— somewhat  uneven,  it  is  true — to  form  the 
street.  And  that  prettiest  of  all,  the  street  which 
had  been  built  since  Rudy,  as  a  little  boy,  had 
last  been  there — that  seemed  to  be  composed  ot 
all  the  nicest  wooden  houses  his  grandfather 
had  cut  out,  and  with  which  the  cupboard  at 
home  had  been  filled.  These  seemed  to  have 
transplanted  themselves  there,  and  to  have 
grown  in  size,  as  the  old  chestnut-trees  had  done. 

Every  house  almost  was  an  hotel,  as  it  was 
called,  with  carved  wooden  work  round  the 
windows  and  balconies,  with  smart-looking 
roofs,  and  before  each  house  a  flower-garden, 
between  it  and  the  wide  macadamized  high- 
road. Near  these  houses,  but  only  on  one  side 
of  the  road,  stood  some  other  houses :  had  they 


52  LITTLE   KUDT. 

formed  a  double  row,  they  would  have  con 
cealed  the  fresh  green  meadow,  where  wandered 
the  cows  with  bells  that  rang  as  among  the 
high  Alpine  pastures.  The  valley  was  encir 
cled  by  lofty  hills,  which,  about  the  centre, 
seemed  to  retire  a  little  to  one  side,  so  as  to 
render  visible  that  glittering  snow-white  Jung- 
frau,  the  most  beautifiil  in  form  of  all  the  moun- 
tains of  Switzerland. 

What  a  nmnber  of  gayly  di'essed  gentlemen 
and  ladies  from  foreign  lands — what  crowds  of 
Swiss  from  the  adjacent  cantons !  The  candi- 
dates for  the  prizes  carried  the  numbers  of  their 
shots  in  a  garland  round  their  hats.  There  was 
music  of  all  kinds — singing,  hand-organs  and 
wind-instruments,  shouting  and  racket.  The 
houses  and  bridges  were  adorned  with  verses 
and  emblems.  Flags  and  banners  waved ;  the 
firing  of  gun  after  gun  was  heard,  and  that  was 
the  best  music  to  Rudy's  ears.  Amidst  all  this 
excitement  he  almost  forgot  Babette,  for  whose 
sake  only  he  had  gone  there. 

Crowds  were  thronging  to  the  target-shooting. 
Rudy  was  soon  among  them,  and  he  was  al- 
ways the  luckiest — the  best  shot — for  he  always 
struck  the  bull's  eye. 

"  Who  is  that  young  stranger — that  capital 


LITTLE  ETJDY.  53 

marksman?"  was  asked  around.  "He  speaks 
the  French  language  as  they  speak  it  in  the 
Canton  Yalais ;  he  also  expresses  himself  flu- 
ently in  our  German,"  said  several  people. 

"  When  a  child  he  lived  here  in  the  valley, 
near  Grindelwald,"  replied  some  one. 

The  youth  was  fall  of  life ;  his  eyes  sparkled, 
his  aim  was  steady,  his  arm  sure,  and  therefore 
his  shots  always  told.  Good  fortune  bestows 
courage,  and  Eudy  had  always  courage.  He 
had  soon  a  whole  circle  of  friends  round  him. 
Every  one  noticed  him ;  in  short,  he  became 
the  observed  of  all  observers.  Babette  had  al- 
most vanished  from  his  thoughts.  Just  then  a 
heavy  hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder,  and  a 
rough  voice  accosted  him  in  the  French  lan- 
guage with — 

"  You  are  from  the  Canton  Yalais  ?" 

Rudy  turned  round,  and  beheld  a  red  jolly 
countenance  and  a  stout  person.  It  was  the 
rich  miller  from  Bex ;  his  broad  bulk  hid  the 
slender,  lovely  Babette,  who,  however,  soon 
came  forward  with  her  dark  bright  eyes.  The 
rich  miller  was  very  proud  that  it  was  a  hunts- 
man from  his  own  canton  that  had  been  de- 
clared the  best  shot,  and  was  so  much  dis- 
tinguished and  so  much  praised.     Eudy  was 


54  LriTLE   ETTDT. 

truly  the  child  of  good  fortune ;  what  he  had 
travelled  so  far  to  look  for,  but  had  since  his 
arrival  nearly  forgotten,  now  sought  him. 

When  at  a  distance  from  home  one  meets 
persons  from  thence,  acquaintance  is  speedily 
made,  and  people  speak  as  if  they  knew  each 
other.  Rudy  held  the  first  place  at  the  shoot- 
ing matches,  as  the  miller  held  the  first  place  at 
Bex  on  account  of  his  money  and  his  mill.  So 
the  two  men  shook  hands,  although  they  had 
never  met  before ;  Babette,  too,  held  out  her 
hand  frankly  to  Rudy,  and  he  pressed  it  warm- 
ly, and  gazed  with  such  admiration  at  her  that 
she  became  scarlet. 

The  miller  talked  of  the  long  journey  they 
had  made,  and  the  numerous  large  towns  they 
had  seen,  and  how  they  had  travelled  both  by 
steam  and  by  post. 

"  I  came  the  shorter  way,"  said  Rudy ;  "  I 
went  over  the  mountains.  There  is  no  road  so 
liigh  that  one  cannot  venture  to  take  it." 

"  Ay,  at  the  risk  of  breaking  one's  neck !" 
replied  the  miller ;  "  and  you  just  look  like  one 
-who  will  some  day  or  other  break  his  neck — 
jou  are  so  daring !" 

"  One  does  not  fall  unless  one  has  the  fear  of 
doing  so,"  said  Rudy. 


LITTLE   KUDY. 


55 


And  tlie  miller's  relations  at  Interlaken,  with 
whom  lie  and  Babette  were  staying,  invited 
Rudy  to  visit  them,  since  lie  came  from  the 
same  canton  as  did  their  kindred.  It  was  a 
pleasant  invitation  for  Rndy.  Luck  was  with 
him,  as  it  always  is  with  those  who  depend  upon 
themselves,  and  remember  that  "  our  Lord  be- 
stows nuts  upon  us,  but  He  does  not  crack 
them  for  us !" 

And  Eudy  sat  almost  like  one  of  the  fam- 
ily, among  the  miller's  relations,  and  a  toast 
was  drunk  in  honor  of  the  best  shot,  to  which 
Eudy  returned  thanks,  after  clinking  glasses 
with  Babette. 

In  the  evening  the  whole  party  took  a  walk 
on  the  pretty  avenue  along  the  gay-looking  ho- 
tels under  the  walnut-trees ;  and  there  was  such 
a  crowd,  and  so  much  pushing,  that  Eudy  had 
to  offer  his  arm  to  Babette.  He  told  her  how 
happy  he  was  to  have  met  people  from  the 
Canton  Yaud,  for  Yaud  and  Yalais  were  close 
neighbors.  He  spoke  so  cordially,  that  Babette 
could  not  resist  slightly  squeezing  his  hand. 
They  seemed  almost  like  old  acquaintances,  and 
she  was  very  lively — that  pretty  little  girl. 
Eudy  was  much  amused  at  her  remarks  on 
what  was  absurd  and  over-fine  in  the  dress  of 


56  LITTLE    EUDT. 

the  foreign  ladies,  and  tlie  affectation  of  some 
of  them ;  but  she  did  not  wish  to  ridicule  them, 
for  there  might  be  some  excellent  people  among 
them — yes,  nice  amiable  people,  Babette  was 
sure  of  that,  for  she  had  a  godmother  who  was 
a  very  superior  English  lady.  Eighteen  years 
before  when  Babette  was  ckristened,  that  lady 
was  at  Bex ;  she  had  given  Babette  the  valua- 
ble brooch  she  wore.  Her  godmother  had 
written  to  her  twice,  and  this  year  they  were 
to  have  met  her  at  Interlaken,  whither  she  was 
coming  with  her  daughters;  they  were  old 
maids,  going  on  for  thirty,  said  Babette — she 
herself  was  only  eighteen. 

The  tongue  in  her  pretty  little  mouth  was  not 
still  for  a  moment,  and  all  that  she  said  appeared 
to  Rudy  as  matters  of  the  greatest  importance. 
And  he  told  her  what  he  had  to  tell — told  how 
he  had  been  to  Bex,  how  well  he  knew  the  mill, 
and  how  often  he  had  seen  her,  though,  of 
course,  she  had  never  remarked  him.  He  said 
he  had  been  more  distressed  than  he  could  tell, 
when  he  found  that  she  and  her  father  were 
away,  far  away ;  but  still  not  too  far  to  prevent 
one  from  scrambKng  over  the  wall  that  made 
the  road  so  long. 

He  said  all  this,  and  he  said  a  great  deal 


LITTLE  ETJDT.  67 

more ;  lie  told  her  how  much  she  occupied  his 
thoughts,  and  that  it  was  on  her  account,  and 
not  for  the  sake  of  the  shooting  matches,  that 
he  had  come  to  Interlaken. 

Babette  became  very  silent — it  was  almost 
too  much,  all  that  he  confided  to  her. 

As  they  walked  on,  the  sun  sank  behind  the 
lofty  heights,  and  the  Jungfrau  stood  in  strong 
relief,  clothed  in  a  splendor  and  brilliancy  re- 
flected by  the  green  woods  of  the  surrounding 
hills.  Every  one  stood  still  and  gazed  at  it ; 
Rudy  and  Babette  also  stood  and  looked  at  the 
magnificent  scene. 

"  Il^othing  can  be  more  beautiful  than  this !" 
said  Babette. 

"  Nothing !"  said  Rudy,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  Babette. 

"  To-morrow  I  must  go,"  he  added  a  little 
after. 

"  Come  and  visit  us  at  Bex,"  whispered  Ba- 
bette ',  "  my  father  will  be  so  glad  to  see  you." 


ON  THE  WAY  HOME. 


H !  liow  mucli  liad  not  Rudj  to  carry 
next  day  when  he  started  on  his  jour- 
ney homewards  over  the  mountains ! 
He  had  actually  to  carry  two  hand- 
some guns,  three  silver  goblets,  and  a 
silver  coffee-pot — the  latter  would  be 
of  use  when  he  set  up  a  house.  But 
these  valuables  were  not  the  weightiest  load 
he  had  to  bear ;  a  still  weightier  load  he  had 
to  carry — or  did  it  carry  him  ? — over  the  high, 
high  hills. 

The  road  was  rough ;  the  weather  was  dis- 
mal, gloomy,  and  rainy ;  the  clouds  hung  like 
a  mourning- veil  over  the  summits  of  the  moun- 
tains, and  shrouded  their  shining  peaks.  From 
the  woods  had  resounded  the  last  stroke  of  the 
axe,  and  down  the  side  of  the  hill  rolled  the 
trunks  of  the  trees ;  they  looked  like  sticks  from 
the  vast  heights  above,  but  nearer  they  were  seen 
to  be  like  the  thick  masts  of  ships.     The  river 


\ 


LITTLE  EUDT. 


69 


murmured  witli  its  monotonous  sound,  tlie  wind 
whistled,  the  clouds  began  to  sail  hurriedly 
along. 

Close  by  Rudy  suddenly  appeared  a  young 
girl;  he  had  not  observed  her  until  she  was 
quite  near  him.  She  also  was  going  to  cross 
the  mountain.  Her  eyes  had  an  extraordinary 
power ;  they  seemed  to  have  a  spell  in  them — 
they  were  so  clear,  so  deep,  so  unfathoma- 
ble. 

"  Have  you  a  lover  ?"  asked  Rudy.  All  his 
thoughts  were  filled  with  love. 

"  I  have  none,"  she  replied  with  a  laugh,  but 
it  seemed  as  if  she  did  not  speak  the  truth. 
"  Let  us  not  go  the  long  way  round.  We  must 
keep  to  the  left ;  it  is  shorter." 

"  Yes — to  fall  into  some  crevasse,"  said  Rudy. 
"  Tou  should  know  the  paths  better  if  you  take 
upon  yourself  to  be  a  guide." 

"  I  know  the  way  well,"  she  rejoined,  "  and 
I  have  my  wits  about  me.  Your  thoughts  are 
down  yonder  in  the  valley.  Up  here  one  should 
think  of  the  Ice-maiden.  Mankind  say  that 
she  is  not  friendly  to  their  race." 

"  I  am  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  her,"  said 
Rudy.     "  She  could  not  keep  me  when  I  was  a 


60  LITTLE   KUDT. 

child;    sTie  shall  not  catch  me  now  I  am  a 
grown  up  man." 

It  became  very  dark,  the  rain  fell,  and  it  be- 
gan to  snow  heavily ;  it  dazzled  the  eyes,  and 
blinded  them. 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  and  I  will  help  you  to 
mount  upwards,"  said  the  girl,  as  she  touched 
him  with  her  ice-cold  fingers. 

"  You  help  me !"  cried  Kudy.  "  I  do  not 
yet  require  a  woman's  help  in  climbing ;"  and 
he  walked  on  more  briskly  away  from  her. 
The  snow-storm  thickened  like  a  curtain  around 
him,  the  wind  moaned,  and  behind  him  he 
heard  the  girl  laughing  and  singing.  It  sounded 
so  strangely.  It  was'  surely  Glamourie,  she 
sm-ely,  one  of  the  attendants  of  the  Ice-maiden  ; 
Rudy  had  heard  of  such  things  when,  as  a  httle 
boy,  he  had  spent  a  night  on  the  mountains,  on 
his  journey  over  the  hiUs. 

The  snow  fell  more  thickly,  the  clouds  lay 
below  him.  He  looked  back;  there  was  no 
one  to  be  seen,  but  he  heard  laughter  and  jeer- 
ing, and  it  did  not  seem  to  come  from  a  himian 
being. 

When  at  length  Rudy  had  reached  the  high- 
est part  of  the  mountain,  where  the  path  led 


'"1  ^'  *"  V  ' 


The  Tempter. 


LITTLE  EUDT. 


61 


down  to  the  valley  of  tlie  Ehone,  he  perceived 
on  the  pale  blue  of  the  horizon,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Chamouny,  two  glittering  stars.  They 
shone  so  brightly  ;  and  he  thought  of  Babette, 
of  himself,  and  of  his  hai)piness,  and  became 
warm  with  these  thoughts. 


THE  VISIT  TO  THE  MILL. 


^(^\  ^^  ^^"^Q  really  bronglit  costly  tilings 

jn  IJ  ,  home,"  said  his  old  foster-motlier,  and 

her  strange  eagle  eyes  sparkled,  while 

she  worked  her  thin  wrinkled  neck 

even  more  qnickly  than  usual.    "  Ton 

carry  good  luck  with  you,  Eudy,  I 

must  kiss  you,  my  dear  hoy." 

Rudy  allowed  himself  to  be  kissed,  hut  it 

was  evident  by  his  countenance  that  he  did 

not  relish  this  domestic  greeting. 

"  How  handsome  you  are,  Rudy !"  exclaimed 
the  old  woman. 

"  Oh  !  don't  flatter  me,"  replied  Rudy,  laugh- 
ing; but  he  was  pleased  at  the  compliment 
nevertheless. 

"  I  repeat  it,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  and  good 
fortune  smiles  on  you." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  you  are  right  there,"  he  said, 
while  his  thoughts  strayed  to  Babette. 
6* 


LITTLE   BUDY. 


63 


!Never  before  had  he  longed  so  mucli  for  the 
deep  valley. 

"  They  must  have  come  back,"  he  said  to 
himself;  "  it  is  now  more  than  two  days  over 
the  time  they  fixed  for  their  retm:*n.  I  must  go 
to  Bex." 

And  to  Bex  he  went.  The  miller  and  his 
daughter  were  at  home ;  he  was  well  received, 
and  many  greetings  were  given  to  him  from 
the  family  at  Interlaken.  Babette  did  not 
speak  much ;  she  had  become  very  silent.  But 
her  eyes  spoke,  and  that  was  quite  enough  for 
Kudy.  The  miller,  who  generally  had  enough 
to  say,  and  was  accustomed  to  joke  and  have 
all  his  jokes  laughed  at,  for  he  was  the  rich 
'miller^  seemed  to  prefer  listening  to  Rudy's 
stu'ring  adventures,  and  hearing  him  tell  of  all 
the  difiiculties  and  dangers  that  the  chamois- 
hunter  had  to  encounter  on  the  mountain 
heights — how  he  had  to  crawl  along  the  unsafe 
snowy  cornice-work  on  the  edges  of  the  hills, 
which  was  attached  to  the  rocks  by  the  force 
of  the  wind  and  weather,  and  tread  the  frail 
bridges  the  snow-storm  had  cast  over  many  a 
deep  abyss, 

Kudy  spoke  with  much  spirit,  and  his  eyes 
sparkled  while  he  described  the  life  of  a  hunter, 


64  LITTLE   EUDT. 

the  cunning  of  the  chamois  and  the  wonderful 
springs  they  took,  the  mighty  Fohn,  and  the 
rolling  avalanche.  He  observed  that,  at  every 
new  description,  he  won  more  and  more  upon 
the  miller,  and  that  the  latter  was  particularly 
interested  in  his  account  of  the  Liimmergeier 
and  the  bold  royal  eagle. 

Not  far  from  Bex,  in  the  Canton  Yalais, 
there  was  an  eagle's  nest,  built  most  inge- 
niously under  a  projecting  platform  of  rock,  on 
the  margin  of  the  hill ;  there  was  a  }'0ung  one 
in  it,  which  no  one  could  take.  An  English- 
man had,  a  few  days  before,  offered  Eudy  a 
large  handful  of  gold  if  he  would  bring  him 
the  young  eagle  alive. 

"  But  there  are  limits  even  to  the  most  reck- 
less daring,"  said  Rudy.  "  The  young  eagle  up 
there  is  not  to  be  got  at :  it  would  be  madness 
to  make  the  attempt." 

And  the  wine  circulated  fast,  and  the  con- 
versation flowed  on  fast,  and  Rudy  thought  the 
evening  was  much  too  short,  although  it  was 
past  midnight  when  he  left  the  miller's  house 
after  this  his  first  visit. 

The  lights  shone  for  a  short  time  thi'ough 
the  windows,  and  were  reflected  on  the  green 
branches  of  the  trees,  while  through  the  sky- 


LITTLE   EUDY.  65 

light  on  tlie  roof,  wliicli  was  open,  crept  ont  tlie 
parlor  cat,  and  met  in  the  water  conduit  on  the 
roof  the  kitchen  cat. 

"  Don't  you  see  that  there  is  something  new 
going  on  here  ?"  said  the  parlor  cat.  "  There 
is  secret  love-making  in  the  house.  The  father 
knows  nothing  of  it  yet.  Kudy  and  Babette 
have  been  all  the  evening  treading  on  each 
other's  toes  under  the  table ;  they  trod  on  me 
twice,  but  I  did  not  mew,  for  that  would  have 
aroused  suspicion." 

"Well,  /would  have  done  it,"  said  the  kitch- 
en cat. 

"What  might  suit  the  kitchen  would  not 
do  in  the  parlor,"  replied  the  parlor  cat.  "  I 
should  like  very  much  to  know  what  the  miller 
will  say  when  he  hears  of  this  engagement." 

Yes,  indeed — what  would  the  miller  say? 
That  Rudy  also  was  anxious  to  know.  He 
could  not  bring  himself  to  wait  long.  There- 
fore before  many  days  had  passed,  when  the 
omnibus  rolled  over  the  bridge  between  the 
Cantons  Yalais  and  Yaud,  Eudy  sat  in  it,  with 
plenty  of  confidence  as  usual,  and  pleasant 
thoughts  of  the  favorable  answer  he  expected 
that  evening. 

And  when  the  evening  had  come,  and  the 

6* 


6Q  LITTLE   EUDY. 

omnibus  was  rehirning,  Eudy  also  sat  in  it, 
going  liomewards.  But,  at  the  miller's,  tlie 
parlor  cat  jumped  out  again. 

"  Look  here,  jou  from  the  kitchen — the  mil- 
ler knows  every  thing  now.  There  was  a 
strange  end  to  the  affair.  Rudy  came  here 
towards  the  afternoon,  and  he  and  Babettehad 
a  great  deal  to  whisper  about ;  they  stood  on 
the  path  a  little  below  the  miller's  room.  I  lay 
at  their  feet,  but  they  had  neither  eyes  nor 
thoughts  for  me. 

" '  I  will  go  straight  to  your  father,'  said 
Rudy ;  '  my  proposal  is  honest  and  honorable.' 

"  '  Shall  I  go  with  you,'  said  Babette, '  that  I 
may  give  you  courage  V 

"  '  I  have  plenty  of  courage,'  replied  Rudy, 
'but  if  you  are  with  me,  he  must  put  some 
control  upon  himself,  whether  he  likes  the  mat- 
ter or  not.' 

"So  they  went  in.  Eudy  trod  heavily  on 
my  tail — ^he  is  very  clumsy.  I  mewed,  but 
neither  he  nor  Babette  had  ears  for  me. 
They  opened  the  door,  and  entered  together, 
and  I  with  them,  but  I  sprang  up  to  the  back 
of  a  chair.  I  could  scarcely  hear  what  Eudy 
said,  but  I  heard  how  the  master  blazed  forth : 
it  was  a  regtdar  turning  him  out  of  his  doors 


The  Proposal, 


LITTLE  KTJDT.  67 

up  to  the  mountains  and  the  chamois ;  Kudy 
might  look  after  these,  but  not  after  our  little 
Babette." 

"  But  what  did  they  say  ?"  asked  the  kitchen 
cat. 

"  Say !  they  said  all  that  is  generally  said 
under  such  circumstances  when  people  go 
a-wooing.  '  I  love  her  and  she  loves  me ;  and 
when  there  is  milk  in  the  can  for  one,  there  is 
milk  in  the  can  for  two.^ 

"  '  But  she  is  far  above  you,'  said  the  miller ; 
'she  has  lots  of  gold,  and  you  have  none. 
Don't  you  see  that  you  cannot  aspire  to  her  V 

" '  There  is  nothing  or  no  one  so  high  that 
one  may  not  reach  if  one  is  only  determined 
to  do  so,'  said  Rudy,  getting  angry. 

" '  But  you  said  not  long  since  that  you  could 
not  reach  the  young  eagle  in  its  nest.  Babette 
is  a  still  higher  and  more  difScult  prize  for  you 
to  take.' 

" '  I  will  take  them  both,'  replied  Eudy. 

"  '  Yery  well !  I  will  give  her  to  you  when 
you  bring  me  the  young  eaglet  alive,'  said  the 
miller,  and  he  laughed  until  the  tears  stood  in 
his  eyes.  '  But  now  thank  you  for  your  visit, 
Hudy !  If  you  come  again  to-morrow,  you  will 
find  no  one  at  home.     Farewell,  Rudy !' 


G8 


LITTLE    EUDT. 


"  And  Babette  also  said  farewell,  in  as  timid 
and  pitiable  voice  as  that  of  a  little  kitten  which 
cannot  see  its  mother. 

" '  A  promise  is  a  promise,  and  a  man  is  a 
man !'  said  Rudy.  '  Do  not  weep,  Babette ;  I 
shall  bring  the  young  eagle.' 

" '  You  will  break  your  neck,  I  hope !'  ex- 
claimed the  miller ;  '  then  we  shall  be  free  of 
this  bad  job.'  I  call  that  sending  him  off  with 
a  flea  in  his  ear !  ISTow  Rudy  is  gone,  and  Ba- 
bette sits  and  cries,  but  the  miller  sings  Ger- 
man Bongs  which  he  learnt  in  his  journey.  I 
shall  not  distress  myself  about  the  matter ;  it 
would  do  no  good," 

"  But  it  is  all  very  cuiious,"  said  the  kitchen 
cat. 


THE  EAGLE'S  NEST. 


l^'fy^'^'ROM.    the  monntain   path   came   tlie 
^^i  1^   sound  of  a  person  whistling  in  a  strain 
so    lively  that    it    betokened    good- 
humor  and  undaunted  courage.     The 
whistler  was  Rudy ;  he  was  going  to 
his  friend  Yesinand. 
"  You  must  help  me !     "We  shall  take 
Kagli  with  us.     I  must  carry  off  the  young 
eagle  up  yonder  under  the  shelving  rock !" 

"  Had  you  not  better  try  first  to  take  down 
the  moon  ?  That  would  be  about  as  hopeful 
an  undertaking,"  said  Yesinand.  "  You  are  in 
great  spirits,  I  see." 

"Yes,  for  I  am  thinking  of  my  wedding. 
But  now,  to  speak  seriously,  you  shall  know 
how  matters  stand  with  me." 

And  Yesinand  and  Ragli  were  soon  made 
acquainted  with  what  Eudy  wished. 

"  You  are  a  daring  fellow,"  they  said,  "  but 
you  wont  succeed — ^you  will  break  your  neck." 


TO  LITTLE   ELTDT. 

"  One  does  not  fall  if  one  lias  no  fear !"  said 
Eudj. 

About  midniglit  they  set  out  witli  alpen- 
stocks, ladders,  and  ropes.  The  road  lay  thi'ongh 
copsewood  and  brushwood,  over  rolling  stones 
upwards,  always  upwards,  upwards  in  the  dark 
and  gloomy  night.  The  waters  roared  below, 
the  waters  murmured  above,  humid  clouds 
swept  heavily  along.  The  hunters  reached  at 
length  the  precipitous  ridge  of  rock.  It  be- 
came even  darker  here,  for  the  walls  of  rock 
almost  met,  and  light  penetrated  only  a  little 
way  down  from  the  open  space  above.  Close 
by,  under  them,  was  a  deep  abyss,  with  its 
hoarse-sounding,  raging  water. 

They  sat  all  three  quite  still.  They  had  to 
await  the  dawn  of  day,  when  the  parent  eagle 
should  fly  out ;  then  only  could  they  fire  if 
they  had  any  hope  to  capture  the  young  one. 
Rudy  sat  as  still  as  if  he  had  been  a  portion  of 
the  rock  on  which  he  sat.  He  held  his  gun 
ready  to  fire ;  his  eyes  were  steadily  fixed  on 
the  highest  part  of  the  cleft,  under  a  projecting 
rock  of  w^hich  the  eagle's  nest  was  concealed. 
The  three  hunters  had  long  to  wait. 

At  length,  high  above  them  was  heard  a 
crashing,  whirring  noise ;  the  ah  was  darkened 


LITTLE    EUDY,  71 

by  a  large  object  soaring  in  it.  Two  guns 
were  ready  to  aim  at  the  enormous  eagle  tlie 
moment  it  flew  from  its  nest.  A  shot  was 
fired ;  for  an  instant  the  outspread  wings  flut- 
tered, and  tlien  the  bird  began  to  sink  slowly, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  with  its  size  and  the  stretch 
of  its  wings  it  would  fill  the  whole  chasm,  and 
in  its  fall  drag  the  hunters  down  with  it.  The 
eagle  disappeared  in  the  abyss  below ;  the  crack- 
ing of  the  trees  and  bushes  was  heard,  which 
were  snapped  and  crushed  in  the  fall  of  the  stu- 
pendous bu'd. 

And  now  commenced  the  business  that 
brouo;ht  the  hunters  there.  Three  of  the  lons;- 
est  ladders  were  tied  securely  together.  They 
were  intended  to  reach  the  outermost  and  last 
stepping-place  on  the  margin  of  the  abyss ;  but 
they  did  not  reach  so  high  up,  and  smooth  as  a 
well-built  wall  was  the  perpendicular  rocky  as- 
cent a  good  way  higher  up,  where  the  nest  was 
hidden  under  the  shelter  of  the  uppermost  pro- 
jecting portion  of  rock.  After  some  consulta- 
tion the  young  men  came  to  the  conclusion, 
that  there  was  nothing  better  to  be  done  than 
to  hoist  far  up  two  more  ladders  tied  together, 
and  then  to  attach  these  to  the  three  which  had 
already  been  raised.     With  immense  difliculty 


72  LITTLE    RUDY. 

they  puslied  the  two  ladders  up,  and  the  ropes 
were  made  fast ;  the  ladders  shot  out  from  over 
the  rock,  andhimg  there  swaying  m  the  air  above 
the  unfathomable  depth  beneath.  Rudy  had 
placed  himself  already  on  the  lowest  step.  It 
was  an  ice-cold  morning ;  the  mist  was  rising 
heavily  from  the  dark  chasm  below.  Rudy 
sat  as  a  fly  sits  upon  some  swinging  straw  which 
a  bird,  building  its  nest,  might  have  dropped  on 
the  edge  of  the  lofty  ejrj  it  had  chosen  for  its 
site  ;  but  the  insect  could  fly  if  the  straw  gave 
way — Rudy  could  but  break  his  neck.  The 
wind  was  howling  around  him,  and  away  in 
the  abyss  below  roared  the  gushing  water 
from  the  meltino;  o-lacier  —  the  Ice-maiden's 
palace. 

His  ascent  set  the  ladder  into  a  tremulous  mo- 
tion, as  the  spider  does  which  holds  fast  to  its 
long  waving  slender  thread.  When  Rudy  had 
gained  the  top  of  the  fourth  ladder,  he  felt  more 
confidence  in  them :  he  knew  that  they  had 
been  bound  together  by  sure  and  skilful  hands, 
though  they  dangled  as  if  they  had  had  but 
slight  fastenings. 

But  there  was  even  more  dangerous  work  be- 
fore Rudy  than  mounting  a  line  of  ladders  that 
now  swayed  like  a  frame  of  rushes  in  the  air,  and 


LITTLE  EUDY.  73 

now  knocked  against  the  perpendicular  rock : 
lie  had  to  climb  as  a  cat  climbs.  But  Rudy 
could  do  that,  thanks  to  the  cat  who  had  taught 
him.  He  did  not  perceive  the  presence  of  Yer- 
tigo,  who  trod  the  air  behind  him,  and  stretched 
forth  her  polypus-arms  after  him.  He  gained, 
at  length,  the  last  step  of  the  highest  ladder, 
and  then  he  observed  that  he  had  not  got  high 
enough  even  to  see  into  the  nest.  It  was  only 
by  using  his  hands  that  he  could  raise  himself 
up  to  it ;  he  tried  if  the  lowest  part  of  the  thick 
interlaced  underwood,  which  formed  the  base 
of  the  nest,  was  sufficiently  strong ;  and  when 
he  had  assured  himself  that  the  stunted  trees 
were  firm,  he  swung  himself  up  by  them  from 
the  ladder,  until  his  head  and  breast  had  reached 
the  level  of  the  nest.  But  then  poured  forth  on 
him  a  stifling  stench  of  carrion ;  for  putrefied 
lambs,  chamois,  and  birds,  lay  there  crowded 
together. 

Swimming-in-the-Head,  a  sister  to  Yertigo, 
though  it  could  not  overpower  him,  puffed  the 
disgusting,  almost  poisonous  odor  into  his  face, 
that  he  might  become  faint ;  and  down  below, 
in  the  black  yawning  ravine,  upon  the  dank 
dashing  waters,  sat  the  Ice-maiden  herself,  with 
her  long  pale  green  hair,  and  gazed  upwards 


74  LITTLE   EUDY.  I 

with  her  death-giving  eyes,  while  she  ex- 
claimed— 

"  ]^ow  I  will  seize  yoii !" 

In  a  corner  of  the  eagle's  nest,  Rudy  beheld 
the  eaglet  sitting — a  large  and  powerful  crea- 
ture, even  though  it  could  not  yet  fly.  Eudy 
fixed  his  eyes  on  it,  held  on  marvellously  with 
one  hand,  and  with  the  other  hand  cast  a  noose 
around  the  young  eagle ;  it  was  captured  alive, 
its  legs  were  in  the  tightened  cord,  and  Eudy 
flung  the  sling  with  the  bird  over  his  shoulder, 
so  that  the  creature  hmig  a  good  way  down  be- 
neath him,  as,  with  the  help  of  a  rope,  he  held 
on,  until  his  foot  touched  at  last  the  highest 
step  of  the  ladder. 

"  Hold  fast !  don't  fear  to  fall,  and  you  will 
not  do  so !"  Such  was  his  early  lesson,  and 
Eudy  acted  on  it :  he  held  fast,  crept  down, 
and  did  not  fall. 

Then  arose  a  shout  of  joy  and  congratulation. 
Eudy  stood  safely  on  the  rocky  ground,  laden 
with  his  prize,  the  young  eagle. 


WHAT  MORE  THE 
PARLOR  CAT  HAD   TO  TELL. 


EEE  is  what  you  demanded !"  said 
Eudy,  as  he  entered  the  miller's  house 
at  Bex,  and  placed  on  the  floor  a  large 
basket.  When  he  took  its  cover  off, 
there  glared  forth  two  yellow  eyes  sur- 
rounded with  a  dark  ring — eyes  so 
flashing,  so  wild,  that  they  looked  as 
though  they  would  burn  or  blast  every  thing 
they  saw ;  the  short  hard  beak  opened  to  bite ; 
the  neck  was  red  and  downy. 

"  The  young  eagle !"  exclauned  the  miller. 
Babette  screamed,  and  sprang  to  one  side,  but 
could  not  take  her  eyes  off  of  Eudy  and  the 
eaglet. 

"You  are  not  to  be  frightened!"  said  the 
miller,  addressing  Eudy. 

"  And  you  will  keep  your  word,"  said  Eudy ; 
"  every  one  has  his  object." 


76  LITTLE   EUDT. 

"  But  how  is  it  that  you  did  not  break  your 
neck  ?"  asked  the  miller, 

"  Because  I  held  fast,"  replied  Eudy ;  "  and 
so  I     >  now — I  hold  fast  to  Babette." 

"  "W ,  .it  till  you  get  her !"  said  the  miller, 
laughing,  and  Babette  thought  that  was  a  good 
sign. 

"Let  us  take  the  young  eagle  out  of  the 
basket ;  it  is  frightful  to  see  how  its  eyes  glare. 
How  did  you  manage  to  capture  it  ?" 

Rudy  had  to  describe  his  feat,  and,  as  he 
spoke,  the  miller's  eyes  opened  wider  and 
wider. 

"With  your  confidence  and  your  good  for- 
tune, you  might  maintain  three  wives,"  said  the 
miller. 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !"  cried  Rudy. 

"  But  you  wont  get  Babette  just  yet,"  said 
the  miller,  slapping  the  young  Alpine  hunter 
with  good-hiunor  on  his  shoulder. 


"  Do  you  know  there  is  something  going  on 
again  here  ?"  said  the  parlor  cat  to  the  kitchen 
cat.  "  Rudy  has  brought  us  the  young  eagle, 
and  takes  Babette  as  his  reward.  They  have 
kissed  each  other  in  the  father's  presence !  That 


LITTLE  EUDT.  T7 

was  as  good  as  a  betrothal.  The  old  man  did 
not  storm  at  all ;  he  kept  in  his  claws,  took  an 
afternoon  nap,  and  left  the  two  to  sit  and  chat- 
ter to  each  other.  They  have  so  much  to  say 
that  they  will  not  be  tired  talking  till  Christ- 
mas." 

And  they  were  not  tired  talking  till  Christ- 
mas. The  wind  whirled  in  eddies  through  the 
groves,  and  shook  down  the  yellow  leaves ;  the 
snow-drifts  appeared  in  the  valleys  as  well  as 
on  the  lofty  hills ;  the  Ice-maiden  sat  in  her 
proud  palace,  which  she  occupied  during  the 
winter-time;,  the  upright  walls  of  rock  were 
covered  with  sleet;  enormous  masses  of  ice- 
tapestry  were  to  be  seen  where,  in  summer,  the 
mountain  streams  came  pouring  down ;  fantas- 
tic garlands  of  crystal  ice  hung  over  the  snow- 
powdered  pine-trees.  The  Ice-maiden  rode  on 
the  howling  wind,  over  the  deepest  dales.  The 
carpet  of  snow  was  laid  as  far  down  as  Bex ; 
she  could  go  there,  and  see  Rudy  in  the  house 
where  he  now  passed  so  much  of  his  time  with 
Babette.  The  wedding  was  to  take  place  in 
summer,  and  they  heard  enough  of  it — their 
friends  talked  so  much  about  it. 

There  came  sunshine;  the  most  beautiful 
Alpine  roses  bloomed.     The  lovely,  laughing 


78 


LITTLE   EUDT. 


Babette  was  as  cTiarming  as  the  early  spring — 
the  spring  which  makes  all  the  birds  sing  of 
summer-time,  when  was  to  be  the  wedding-day. 
"  How  these  two  do  sit  and  hang  over  each 
other  !"  exclaimed  the  parlor  cat.  "  I  am  sick 
of  aU  this  stuff." 


THE  ICE-MAIDEN'S 
SCORN    OF    MANKIND 


I PRING  liad  unfolded  ter  fresli  green 
garlands  of  walnut  and  chestnut  trees, 
which  were  bursting  into  bloom,  par- 
ticularly in  the  country  that  extends 
from  the  bridge  at  St.  Maurice  to  the 
Lake  of  Geneva  and  the  banks  of  the 
Rhone,  which  with  wild  speed  rushes 
from  its  source  under  the  green  glaciers,— the 
Ice-palace  where  the  Ice-maiden  dwells— 
whence,  on  the  keen  wind,  she  permits  herself 
to  be  borne  up  to  the  highest  fields  of  snow, 
and,  in  the  warm  sunshine,  reclines  on  their 
drifting  masses.  Here  she  sat,  and  gazed  fix- 
edly down  into  the  deep  valley  beneath,  where 
human  beings,  like  ants  on  a  sunlit  stone,  were 
to  be  seen  busily  moving  about. 

"  Beings  of  mental  power,  as  the  children  ol 


80  LITTLE   EUDT. 

the  sun  call  you/'  cried  the  Ice-maiclen,  "ye 
are  but  vennin  !  Let  a  snowball  but  roll  down, 
and  you  and  your  houses  and  your  villages  are 
crushed  and  overwhelmed."  And  she  raised 
her  proud  head  higher,  and  looked  with  death- 
threatening  eyes  around  her  and  below  her. 
But  from  the  valley  arose  a  strange  sound ;  it 
was  the  blasting  of  rocks — the  work  of  men — 
the  forming  of  roads  and  tunnels  before  the 
railway  was  laid  down. 

"  They  are  working  underground  like  moles ; 
they  are  digging  passages  in  the  rock,  and 
therefore  are  heard  these  sounds  like  the  re 
ports  of  guns.  I  shall  remove  my  palaces,  for 
the  noise  is  greater  than  the  roar  of  thunder 
itself." 

There  ascended  from  the  valley  a  thick 
smoke,  which  seemed  agitated  like  a  fluttering 
veil :  it  came  curling  up  from  the  locomotive, 
which  upon  the  newly  opened  railway  drew 
the  train,  that,  carriage  linked  to  carriage, 
looked  like  a  winding  serpent.  With  an  ar- 
row's speed  it  shot  past. 

"  They  pretend  to  be  the  masters  down  yon- 
der, these  powers  of  mind !"  exclaimed  the  Ice- 
maiden  ;  "  but  the  mighty  powers  of  nature  are 
6till  the  rulers." 


LITTLE  EUDT.  81 

And  she  laughed,  she  sang;  her  voice  re- 
sounded through  the  valley. 

"  An  avalanche  is  falling !"  cried  the  people 
down  there. 

Then  the  children  of  the  sun  sang  in  louder 
strains  about  the  power  of  thought  in  mankind. 
It  commands  all,  it  brings  the  wide  ocean  un 
der  the  yoke,  levels  mountains,  tills  up  valleys ; 
the  power  of  thought  in  mankind  makes  them 
lords  over  the  powers  of  nature. 

Just  at  that  moment,  there  came,  crossing 
the  snow-field  where  the  Ice-maiden  sat,  a  party 
of  travellers ;  they  had  bound  themselves  fast 
to  each  other,  to  be  as  one  large  body  upon  the 
slippery  ice,  near  the  deep  abyss. 

"  Yermin !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Y^ou  the  lords 
of  the  powers  of  natm-e !"  and  she  turned  away 
from  them,  and  looked  scornfully  towards  the 
deep  valley,  where  the  railway  train  was  rush- 
ing by. 

"  There  they  go,  these  thoughts !  They  are 
full  of  might;  I  see  them  everywhere.  One 
stands  alone  like  a  king,  others  stand  in  a 
group,  and  yonder  half  of  them  are  asleep. 
And  when  the  steam-engine  stops  still,  they 
get  out  and  go  their  way.  The  thoughts  then 
go  forth  into  the  world."     And  she  laughed. 


82  LITTLE   EUDY. 

"  There  goes  another  avalanche !"  said  the 
inhabitants  of  the  valley. 

"  It  will  not  reach  us,"  cried  two  who  sat 
together  in  the  train — "two  souls,  but  one 
mind,"  as  has  been  said.  These  were  Rudy 
and  Babette ;  the  miller  accompanied  them. 

"  Like  baggage,"  he  said,  "  I  am  with  them 
as  a  sort  of  necessary  appendage." 

"  There  sit  the  two,"  said  the  Ice-maiden. 
"  Many  a  chamois  have  I  crushed,  millions  of 
Alpine  roses  have  I  snapped  and  broken,  not  a 
root  left — I  destroyed  them  all !  Thought — 
power  of  mind,  indeed  !" 

And  she  lauo-hed  a^ain. 

"  There  goes  another  avalanche  !"  said  those 
down  in  the  valley. 


% 


THE    GODMOTHER. 


T  Montreux,  one  of  the  nearest  towns, 
which,  with  Clarens,  Bernex,  and  Crin, 
encircle  the  northeast  part  of  the 
Lake  of  Geneva,  resided  Babette's 
godmother,  the  distinguished  English 
lady,  with  her  daughters  and  a  young 
relation.  They  had  only  lately  ar- 
rived, yet  the  miller  had  already  paid  them  a 
visit,  announced  Babette's  engagement,  and 
told  about  Kudy  and  the  young  eagle,  the  visit 
to  Interlaken — in  short,  the  whole  story ;  and 
it  had  highly  interested  his  hearers,  and  pleased 
them  with  Rudy,  Babette,  and  even  the  miller 
himself.  They  were  invited  all  three  to  come 
to  Montreux,  and  they  went ;  Babette  ought  to 
see  her  godmother,  and  her  godmother  wished 
to  see  her. 

At  the  little  town  of  Yilleneuve,  about  the 
end  of  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  lay  the  steamboat, 
that,  in  a  voyage  of  half  an  horn*,  went  from 


84  LITTLE   ETIDT, 

thence  to  Bernex,  a  little  way  below  Montreux. 
It  is  a  coast  wliich  has  often  been  celebrated  in 
song  by  poets.  There,  under  the  walnut-trees, 
on  the  banks  of  the  deep  bluish-green  lake, 
Byron  sat,  and  wrote  his  melodious  verses 
about  the  prisoner  in  the  gloomy  mountain- 
castle  of  Chillon.  There,  where  Clarens  is  re- 
flected amidst  weeping  willows  in  the  clear 
water,  wandered  Rousseau,  dreaming  of  Eloise. 
The  river  Rhone  glides  away  under  the  lofty 
snow-clad  hills  of  Savoy ;  here  there  lies  not  far 
from  its  mouth  a  small  island,  so  small  that 
from  the  shore  it  looks  as  if  it  were  but  a  toy 
islet.  It  is  a  patch  of  rocky  ground,  wliich 
about  a  century  ago  a  lady  caused  to  be  walled 
round  and  covered  with  earth,  in  which  three 
acacia-trees  were  planted;  these  now  over- 
shadow the  whole  island.  Babette  liad  always 
been  charmed  with  this  little  islet ;  she  thought 
it  the  loveliest  spot  that  was  to  be  seen  on  the 
whole  voyage.  She  said  she  would  like  so  much 
to  land  there — she  must  land  there — it  would 
be  so  delightful  under  these  beautiful  trees. 
But  the  steamer  passed  it  by,  and  did  not  stop 
until  it  had  reached  Bernex. 

The  little  party  proceeded  thence  up  amidst 
the  white  sunlit  walls  that  sm-rounded  the  vine- 


^  LITTLE   EUDY,  85"' 

yards  in  front  of  the  little  town  of  Montreux, 
"where  the  peasants'  houses  are  shaded  by  fig- 
trees,  and  laurels  and  cypresses  grow  in  the- 
gardens.  Half-way  up  the  ascent  stood  the. 
boarding-house  where  the  godmother  lived. 

The  meeting  was  very  cordial.  The  god- 
mother was  a  stout  pleasant-looking  woman,, 
with  a  round  smiling  face.  "When  a  child  she 
must  certainly  have  exhibited  quite  a  Raphael- 
like  cherub's  head ;  it  was  still  an  angel's  head,, 
but  older,  and  with  silver-white  hair  clustering 
round  it.  The  daughters  were  well-dressed,  ele- 
gant-looking, tall  and  slender.  The  young, 
cousin  who  was  with  them,  and  who  was  dressed 
in  white  almost  from  top  to  toe,  and  had  red  hair 
and  red  whiskers  large  enough  to  have  been  di- 
vided among  three  gentlemen,  began  immediate- 
ly to  pay  the  utmost  attention  to  little  Babette.. 
Splendidly  bound  books  and  drawings  were  ly- 
ing on  the  large  table ;  music-books  were  also 
to  be  seen  in  the  room.  The  balcony  looked 
out  upon  the  beautiful  lake,  which  was  so 
bright  and  calm  that  the  mountains  of  Savoy,, 
with  their  villages,  woods,  and  snow-peaks^ 
were  clearly  reflected  in  it. 

Rudy,  who  was  generally  so  lively  and  so 
undaunted,  found  himself  not  at  all  at  his  ease. 


86  LITTLE   EUDY. 

He  was  obliged  to  be  as  much  on  his  guard  as 
if  he  were  walking  on  peas  over  a  slippery  floor. 
How  tediously  time  passed  !  It  was  like  being 
in  a  treadmill.  And  now  they  were  to  go  out 
to  walk !  This  was  quite  as  tiresome.  Two 
steps  forward  and  one  backward  Rudy  had  to 
take  to  keep  pace  with  the  others.  Down  to 
Chillon,  the  gloomy  old  castle  on  the  rocky 
island,  they  went,  to  look  at  instruments  of  tor- 
ture and  dmigeons,  rusty  fetters  attached  to  the 
rocky  walls,  stone  pallets  for  those  condemned 
to  death,  trap-doors  through  which  the  unfor- 
tunate creatures  were  hurled  down  to  fall  upon 
iron  spikes  amidst  burning  piles.  They  called 
it  a  pleasure  to  look  at  all  these  !  A  dreadful 
place  of  execution  it  was,  elevated  by  Byron's 
verse  into  the  world  of  poetry.  Rudy  viewed 
it  only  as  a  place  of  execution.  He  leaned 
against  the  wide  stone  embrasure  of  the  win- 
dow, and  gazed  down  on  the  deep  blue-green 
of  the  water,  and  over  to  the  little  solitary 
island  with  the  three  acacias;  how  much  he 
wished  himself  there — free  from  the  whole  bab- 
bling party ! 

But  Babette  felt  quite  happy.  She  had  been 
excessively  amused,  she  said  afterwards;  the 
cousin  had  "  found  her  perfect." 


LITTLE  EUDY. 


87 


"  Oil  yes — mere  idle  talk  !"  replied  Eudy  ; 
and  tliis  was  tlie  first  time  lie  liad  ever  said 
ny  thing  tliat  did  not  please  her.   . 

The  Englishman  had  made  her  a  present  of 
a  little  book  as  a  souvenir  of  Chillon ;  it  was 
Byron's  poem,  the  "  Prisoner  of  Chillon,"  trans- 
lated into  French,  so  that  Babette  was  able  to 
read  it. 

"  The  book  may  be  good  enough,"  said  Eudy, 
"  but  the  nicely  combed  fop  who  gave  it  to  yon 
is  no  favorite  of  mine." 

"  He  looks  like  a  meal-sack  without  meal," 
cried  the  miller,  laughing  at  his  own  wit. 

Rudy  laughed  too,  and  said  it  was  an  excel- 
lent remark. 


THE    COUSIN 


BffiN  Rudy,  a  few  days  afterwards, 
went  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  miller,  he 
found  the  young  Englishman  there. 
Babette  had  just  placed  before  him  a 
plate  of  trout,  and  she  had  taken 
much  pains  to  decorate  the  dish. 
Rudy  thought  that  was  unnecessary. 
What  was  the  Enghslunan  doing  there  ?  What 
did  he  want  ?  Why  was  he  thus  served  and 
pampered  by  Babette  ?  Rudy  was  jealous,  and 
that  pleased  Babette.  It  amused  her  to  see  all 
the  feelings  of  his  heart — the  strong  and  the 
weak.  Love  was  to  her  as  yet  but  a  pastime, 
and  she  played  with  Rudy's  whole  heart ;  but 
nevertheless  it  is  certain  that  he  was  the  centre 
of  all  her  thoughts — the  dearest,  the  most  val- 
ued in  this  w^orld.  Still,  the  more  gloomy  he 
looked,  the  merrier  her  eyes  laughed.  She 
could  almost  have  kissed  the  fair  Iiinglishraan 
with  the  red  whiskers,  if  she  could,  by  doing  this, 


LrrTLE  KUDY. 


89 


have  seen  Rudy  rush  out  in  a  rage ;  it  would  have 
shown  her  how  greatly  she  was  beloved  by  him 

This  was  not  right,  not  wise  in  little  Babette , 
but  she  was  only  nineteen  years  of  age.  She 
did  not  reflect  on  her  unkindness  to  Rudy ; 
still  less  did  she  think  how  her  conduct  might 
appear  to  the  young  Englishman,  or  if  it  were 
not  lighter  and  more  wanting  in  propriety  than 
became  the  miller's  modest,  lately  betrothed 
daughter. 

Where  the  highway  from  Bex  passes  under 
the  snow-clad  rocky  heights,  which,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  country  are  called  DiaMerets, 
stood  the  mill,  not  far  from  a  rapid  rushing 
mountain  stream  of  a  grayish-white  color,  and 
looking  as  if  covered  with  soapsuds.  It  was 
not  that  which  turned  the  mill,  but  a  smaller 
stream,  which  on  the  other  side  of  the  river 
came  tumbling  down  the  rocks,  and  through  a 
circular  reservoir  surrounded  by  stones,  in  the 
road  beneath,  with  its  violence  and  speed 
forced  itself  up  and  ran  into  an  inclosed  basin, 
a  wide  dam,  which,  above  the  rushing  river, 
turned  the  large  wheel  of  the  mill.  When  the 
dam  was  full  of  water  it  overflowed,  and  caused 
the  path  to  be  so  damp  and  slippery  that  it  was 
difficult  to  walk  on  it ;  and  there  was  the  chance 

8* 


90  Ln'ILE   EUDY. 

of  a  fall  into  the  water,  and  being  carried  by 
it  more  swiftly  than  pleasantly  towards  the 
mill.  Such  a  mishap  had  nearly  befallen  the 
young  Englishman.  Equipped  in  white,  like  a 
miller's  man,  he  was  climbing  the  path  in  the 
evening,  guided  by  the  light  that  shone  from 
Babette's  chamber  window.  He  had  never 
learned  to  climb,  and  had  almost  gone  head- 
foremost into  the  water,  but  escaped  with  wet 
arms  and  bespattered  clothes.  Covered  with 
mud  and  dirty-looking,  he  arrived  beneath  Ba- 
bette's window,  clambered  up  the  old  linden- 
tree,  and  there  began  to  mimic  the  owl — no 
other  bird  could  he  attempt  to  imitate.  Ba- 
bette  heard  the  sounds,  and  peeped  through  the 
thin  curtains ;  but  when  she  saw  the  man  in 
white,  and  felt  certain  who  he  was,  her  little 
heart  beat  with  terror,  and  also  with  anger. 
She  quickly  extinguished  her  light,  felt  if  the 
window  was  securely  fastened,  and  then  left 
iim  to  screech  at  his  leisure. 

How  terrible  it  would  be  if  Rudy  were  now 
.at  the  mill !  But  Rudy  was  not  at  the  mill : 
no — it  was  much  worse — he  was  close  by  out- 
iside.  High  words  were  spoken — angry  words 
— there  might  be  blows,  there  might  even  be 
anurder ! 


^^  LITTLE  BUDT.  91 

Babette  hastened  to  open  lier  window,  and, 
calling  Rudy's  name,  bade  him  go  away,  add- 
ing that  she  could  not  permit  him  to  remain 
there. 

"  You  will  not  permit  me  to  remain  here !" 
he  exclaimed.  "  Then  this  is  an  appointment ! 
You  are  expecting  some  good  friend — some  one 
whom  you  prefer  to  me  !  Shame  on  you,  Ba- 
bette !" 

"You  are  unbearable!"  cried  Babette;  "I 
hate  you !"  and  she  burst  into  tears.  "  Go — 
go!" 

"  I  have  not  deserved  this,"  said  Rudy,  as  he 
went  away,  his  cheeks  like  fire,  his  heart  like 
fire. 

Babette  threw  herself  weeping  on  her  bed. 

"  And  you  can  think  ill  of  me,  Rudy — of  me 
who  love  you  so  dearly !" 

She  Avas  angry — very  angry,  and  that  wag 
good  for  her ;  she  would  otherwise  have  been 
deeply  afflicted.  As  it  was,  she  could  fall 
asleep  and  slumber  as  only  youth  can  do. 


EYIL    POWERS. 


fUDT  left  Bex,  and  took  Ms  wav  liorae- 
wards,  choosing  the  patli  up  the  moun- 
tains, with  its  cold  fresh  air,  where, 
\^''^j7d  amidst  the  deep  snow,  the  Ice-maiden 
cy^      holds  her  sway.      The  largest  trees 
e^      with  their  thick  foliage    looked    so 
far  below,  as  if  they  were  but  potato 
tops ;  the  pines  and  the  bushes  became  smaller ; 
the   Alpine   roses  were   covered  with    snow, 
which  lay  in  single  patches,  like  linen  on  a 
bleach-field.     One  solitary  blue  gentian  stood 
in  his  path ;  he  crushed  it  with  the  butt-end  of 
his  gun. 

Higher  up,  two  chainois  showed  themselves. 
Rudy's  eyes  sparkled,  and  his  thoughts  took 
flight  into  another  channel,  but  he  was  not  near 
enough  for  a  sure  aim.  Higher  still  he  as- 
cended, where  only  a  few  blades  of  grass  grew 
amidst  the  blocks  of  ice.  The  chamois  passed 
in  peace  over  the  fields  of  snow.     Rudy  pressed 


LITTLE  EUDT.  93 

angrily  on ;  thick  mists  gathered  around  him, 
and  presently  he  found  himself  on  the  brink  of 
the  steep  precipice  of  rock.  The  rain  began  to 
fall  in  torrents.  He  felt  a  burning  thirst ;  his 
head  was  hot,  his  limbs  were  cold.  He  sought 
for  his  hunting-flask,  but  it  was  empty :  he  had 
not  given  it  a  thought  when  he  rushed  up  the 
mountains.  He  had  never  been  ill  in  his  life, 
but  now  he  experienced  a  sensation  like  illness. 
He  was  very  tired,  and  felt  a  strong  desire  to 
throw  himself  down  and  sleep,  but  water  was 
streaming  all  around  him.  He  tried  to  rouse 
himself,  biit  every  object  seemed  to  be  dancing 
in  a  strange  manner  before  his  eyes. 

Suddenly  he  beheld  what  he  had  never  be- 
fore seen  there — a  newly  built  low  hut  that 
leaned  against  the  rock,  and  in  the  doorway 
stood  a  young  girl.  He  thought  she  was  the 
schoolmaster's  daughter,  Annette,  whom  he  had 
once  kissed  in  the  dance,  but  she  was  not  An- 
nette; yet  certainly  he  had  seen  her  before, 
perhaps  near  Grindelwald  the  evening  he  was 
retm-ning  home  from  the  shooting  matches  at 
Interlaken. 

"  How  did  you  come  here  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  am  at  home,"  she  replied ;  "  I  am  watch- 
ing my  flocks." 


94  LITTLE   EUDY. 

"  Your  flocks  !  Where  do  tliej  find  grass  ? 
Here  there  is  nothing  but  snow  and  rocks." 

"  You  know  much  about  it,  to  be  sure,"  she 
said,  laughing.  "  Behind  this,  a  little  way 
do^^'n,  is  a  very  nice  piece  of  pasture-land.  My 
goats  go  there.  I  take  good  care  of  them ;  I 
never  miss  one ;  I  keep  what  belongs  to  me.'" 

"  You  are  stout-hearted,"  said  Kudj. 

"  And  so  are  you,"  she  answered. 

"If  you  have  any  milk,  pray  give  me  some, 
my  thirst  is  almost  intolerable." 

"  I  have  something  better  than  milk,"  she 
replied;  "you  shall  have  that.  To-day  some 
travellers  came  here  with  their  guides ;  they 
left  half  a  flask  of  wdne  behind  them.  They 
will  not  return  for  it,  and  I  shall  not  drink  it, 
so  you  shall  have  it." 

She  went  for  the  wine,  poured  it  into  a  wood- 
en goblet,  and  gave  it  to  Rudy. 

"  It  is  excellent,"  said  he :  "  I  never  tasted 
any  wine  so  warming,  so  reviving."  And  his 
eyes  beamed  with  a  wondrous  brilliancy ;  there 
came  a  thrill  of  enjojTuent,  a  glow  over  him,  as 
if  every  sorrow  and  every  vexation  were  van- 
ishing from  his  mind  ;  the  free  gushing  feeling 
of  man's  nature  awoke  in  him. 

"  But  you  are  surely  Annette,  the  schoolmas- 


LITTLE  EUDT.  95 

ter's  daughter,"  lie  exclaimed.  "  Give  me  a 
kiss." 

"  First  give  me  the  pretty  ring  you  wear  on 
your  finger." 

"  My  betrothal  ring  ?" 

"  Yes,  just  it,"  said  the  girl ;  and,  replenish- 
ing the  goblet  with  wine,  she  held  it  to  his  lips, 
and  again  he  drank.  A  strange  sense  of  pleas- 
ure seemed  to  rush  into  his  very  blood.  The 
whole  world  was  his,  he  seemed  to  fancy — why 
torment  himself?  Every  thing  is  given  for  our 
gratification  and  enjoyment.  The  stream  of  life 
is  the  stream  of  happiness :  flow  on  with  it,  let 
yourself  be  borne  away  on  it — that  is  felicity. 
He  gazed  on  the  young  gii-l.  She  was  Annette, 
and  yet  not  Annette ;  still  less  was  she  the  magi- 
cal phantom,  as  he  had  called  her  whom  he  had 
met  near  Grindelwald.  The  girl  up  here  upon 
the  mountain  was  fresh  as  the  new-fallen  snow ; 
blooming  like  an  Alpine  rose,  and  lively  as  a 
kid ;  yet  still  formed  from  Adam's  rib,  a  human 
being  like  Rudy  himself.  And  he  flung  his 
arms  around  her,  and  gazed  into  her  marvel- 
lously clear  eyes.  It  was  only  for  a  moment ; 
and  in  that  moment  how  shall  it  be  expressed, 
how  described  in  words  ?     "Was  it  the  life  of  the 


96  LITTLE   EUDY. 

spirit  or  the  life  of  cleatli  which  took  possession 
of  him  ?  Was  he  raised  liigher,  or  was  he  sink- 
ing down  into  the  deep  icy  abyss,  deeper,  al- 
ways deeper  ?  He  beheld  the  walls  of  ice  shi- 
ning like  blue-green  glass;  endless  crevasses 
yawned  aronnd  him,  and  the  waters  dripped 
with  a  sound  like  the  chime  of  bells — they  were 
clear  as  a  pearl  lighted  by  pale  blue  flames. 
The  Ice-maiden  kissed  him;  it  chilled  him 
through  his  whole  body.  He  uttered  a  cry  of 
horror,  broke  resolutely  away  from  her,  stum- 
bled and  fell ;  all  became  dark  to  his  eyes,  but 
he  opened  them  again.  The  evil  powers  had 
played  their  game. 

The  Alpine  girl  was  gone,  the  sheltering  hut 
was  gone ;  water  poured  down  the  naked  rocks, 
and  snow  lay  all  around.  Rudy  was  shivering 
with  cold,  soaked  through  to  the  very  skin,  and 
his  ring  was  gone — the  betrothal  ring  Babette 
had  given  him.  His  gun  lay  on  the  snow  close 
by  him ;  he  took  it  up,  and  tried  to  discharge 
it,  but  it  missed  fire.  Damp  clouds  rested  like 
thick  masses  of  snow  on  the  mountain  clefts. 
Vertigo  sat  there,  and  glared  upon  her  power- 
less prey,  and  beneath  her  rang  through  the 
deep  crevasse  a  sound  as  if  a  mass  of  rock  had 


LITTLE   EIJDT. 


97 


fallen   down,  and  was  crushing  and  carrying 

away  every  thing  that  opposed  it  in  its  furious 

descent. 

At  the  miller's,  Babette  sat  and  wept.     Six 

days  had  elapsed  since  Rudy  had  been  there — 

he  was  in  the  wrong,  he  who  ought  to  ask  her 

forgiveness,  for  she  loved  him  with  her  whole 

heart. 

9 


AT  THE  MILLER'S  HOUSE. 


I OW  frightftillj  foolisli  mankind  are !" 

"i^  said  the  parlor  cat  to  tlie  kitclien  cat. 

"  It  is  all  broken  off  now  between  Ba- 

bette  and  Eudj.     She  sits  and  cries, 

and  he  thinks  no  more  about  her." 

"  I  don't  like  that,"  said  the  kitchen 
cat. 
"  ISTor  I  either,"  re^Dlied  the  parlor  cat,  "  but 
I  am  not  going  to  distress  mjself  about  it. 
Babette  can  take  the  red  whiskers  for  her  sweet- 
heart. He  has  not  been  here  since  the  even- 
ing he  wanted  to  go  on  the  roof." 

The  powers  of  evil  carry  on  their  game  with- 
out and  within  us.  Kudj  was  aware  of  this, 
and  he  reflected  on  it.  -  What  had  passed 
around  him  and  within  him  up  yonder  on  the 
mountain?  Was  it  sin,  or  was  it  a  fever 
dream  ?  He  had  never  known  fever  or  illness 
before.  While  he  blamed  Babette,  he  took  a 
retrospective  glance  within  himself.  He  thought 


Eabettc's  Lectury. 


^ 


LITTLE  EUDY.  99 

of  the  wild  tornado  in  his  heart,  the  hot  whirl- 
wind which  had  recently  broken  loose  there. 
Could  he  confess  all  to  Babette — every  thought 
which,  in  the  hour  of  temptation,  might  have 
been  carried  out  ?  He  had  lost  her  ring,  and 
in  this  very  loss  she  had  won  him  back.  Was 
any  confession  due  from  her  to  him  ?  He  felt 
as  if  his  heart  were  breaking  when  his  thoughts 
reverted  to  her — so  many  recollections  crowded 
on  his  mind.  He  saw  in  her  a  laughing  merry 
child,  full  of  life ;  many  an  affectionate  word 
she  had  addressed  to  him  in  the  fulness  of  her 
heart,  came,  like  a  ray  of  the  sun,  to  gladden  his 
soul,  and  soon  it  was  all  sunshine  there  for  Ba- 
bette. 

She  must,  however,  apologize  to  him,  and 
she  should  do  so. 

He  went  to  the  miller's,  and  confession  fol- 
lowed :  it  began  with  a  kiss  and  ended  in  Ru- 
dy's being  the  sinner.  His  great  fault  was  that 
he  could  have  doubted  Babette's  constancy — 
that  was  too  bad  of  him !  Such  distrust,  such 
impetuosity  might  cause  misery  to  them  both. 
Yes,  very  true !  and  therefore  Babette  preached 
him  a  little  sermon,  which  pleased  herself  vast- 
ly, and  during  which  she  looked  very  pretty. 
But,  in  one  particular,  Rudy  was  right — the 


100  LITTLE  EUDT. 

goclmotlier's  iiepliew  was  a  mere  babbler.  She 
would  burn  tbe  book  lie  had  given  her,  and  not 
keep  the  slightest  article  that  would  remind  her 
of  him, 

"  "Well,  it  is  all  right  again,"  said  the  parlor 
cat.  "  Eudy  has  come  back,  they  have  made 
friends ;  and  that  is  the  greatest  of  pleasures, 
they  say." 

"  I  heard  during  the  night,"  said  the  kitchen 
cat,  "the  rats  declaring  that  the  greatest  of 
pleasures  was  to  eat  candle-grease  and  to  ban- 
quet on  tainted  meat.  Which  of  them  is  to  be 
believed,  the  lovers  or  the  rats  ?" 

"ISTeither  of  them,"  replied  the  parlor  cat. 
"  It  is  always  safest  to  believe  no  one." 

The  greatest  happiness  for  liudy  and  Babette 
was  about  to  take  place ;  the  auspicious  day,  as 
it  is  called,  was  approaching — their  wedding- 
day! 

But  not  in  the  church  at  Bex,  not  at  the  mill- 
er's house,  was  the  wedding  to  be  solemnized ; 
the  godmother  had  requested  that  the  marriage 
should  be  celebrated  at  her  abode,  and  that  the 
ceremony  should  be  performed  in  the  pretty 
little  church  at  Montreux.  The  miller  was 
very  urgent  that  this  arrangement  should  be 
agreed  to :  he  alone  knew  what  the  godmother 


LITTLE   KTJDT.  101 

intended  to  bestow  on  the  young  couple ;  they 
were  to  receive  from  her  a  wedding  gift  that 
was  well  worth  such  a  small  concession  to  her 
wishes.  The  day  was  fixed ;  they  were  to  go  to 
Villeneuve  the  evening  before,  in  order  to  pro- 
ceed by  an  early  steamer  next  morning  to  Mon- 
treux,  that  the  godmother's  daughters  might 
adorn  the  bride. 

"  There  ought  to  be  a  second  day's  wedding 
here  in  this  house,"  said  the  parlor  cat ;  "  else 
I  am  sure  I  would  not  give  a  mew  for  the  whole 
affair." 

"  There  is  going  to  be  a  grand  feast,"  replied 
the  kitchen  cat.  "Ducks  and  pigeons  have 
been  killed,  and  an  entire  deer  hangs  against 
the  wall.  My  mouth  waters  when  I  look  at  all 
this.  To-morrow  they  commence  their  jour- 
ney." 

Tes,  to-morrow !  That  evening  Rudy  and 
Babette  sat  as  a  betrothed  couple  for  the  last 
time  at  the  miller's  house.  Outside  was  to  be 
seen  the  Alpine  glow ;  the  evening  bells  were 
ringing ;  the  daughters  of  the  sun  sang,  "  That 
which  is  best  will  be !" 


NIGHT  VISIONS. 


HE  sun  had  set ;  the  clouds  lay  low  in 
tlie  valley  of  the  Ehone  ;  amidst  the 
lofty  mountains,  the  wind  blew  from 
the  south — an  African  wind.  Sud- 
denly over  the  high  Alps  there  arose 
a  "  Fohn,"  which  swept  the  clouds 
asunder;  and  when  the  wind  had 
lulled,  all  became  for  a  moment  perfectly  still. 
The  scattered  clouds  hung  in  fantastic  fonns 
amidst  the  wooded  hills  that  skirted  the  rapid 
Rhone ;  they  hung  in  forms  like  those  of  the 
marine  animals  of  the  antediluvian  world,  like 
eagles  hovering  in  the  air,  and  like  frogs  spring- 
ing in  a  marsh ;  they  sank  down  over  the  gush- 
ing river,  and  seemed  to  sail  upon  it,  yet  it  was 
in  the  air  they  sailed.  The  current  carried 
with  it  an  uprooted  pine-tree ;  the  water  whirled 
in  eddies  around  it.  It  was  Yertigo  and  some 
of  her  sisters  that  were  thus  dancing  in  circles 


LITTLE   EUDY.  103 

upon  tlie  foaming  stream.  The  moon  slione  on 
the  snow-capped  hills,  on  the  dark  woods,  on 
the  curious  white  clouds — those  appearances  oi 
the  night  that  seem  to  he  the  spirits  of  na- 
ture. The  mountain  peasant  saw  them  through 
his  little  window ;  they  sailed  outside  in  hosts 
before  the  Ice-maiden,  who  came  from  her  gla- 
cier palace.  She  sat  on  a  frail  skiif,  the  up- 
rooted pine ;  the  water  from  the  glaciers  bore 
her  down  to  the  river  near  the  lake. 

"  The  wedding  guests  are  coming !"  the  air 
and  the  waters  seemed  to  murmur  and  to  sing. 

"Warnino's  without,  warnino-s  within !  Ba- 
bette  had  an  extraordinary  dream. 

It  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  were  married  to 
Rudy,  and  had  been  so  for  many  years ;  that 
he  was  out  chamois-hunting,  but  slie  was  at 
home;  and  that  the  young  Englishman  with 
the  red  whiskers  was  sitting  with  her.  His 
eyes  were  full  of  passion,  his  words  had  as  it 
were  a  magic  power  in  them ;  he  held  out  his 
hand  to  her,  and  she  felt  compelled  to  go  with 
him ;  they  went  forth  from  her  home,  and  went 
always  downwards.  And  Babette  felt  as  it 
there  were  a  weight  in  her  heart,  which  was 
becoming  every  moment  heavier.  She  was 
committing  a  sin  against  Eudy — a  sin  against 


104  LITTLE   EUDT. 

God.  And  suddenly  slie  found  lierself  forsaken ; 
her  dress  was  torn  to  pieces  by  thorns,  her  hair 
was  gray.  She  looked  upwards  in  deep  distress, 
and  on  the  margin  of  a  mountain  rido;e  she 
beheld  Rudy.  She  stretched  her  arms  up  to- 
wards him,  but  did  not  dare  either  to  call  to 
him  or  to  jDray ;  and  neither  would  have  been 
of  any  avail,  for  she  soon  perceived  that  it  was 
not  himself,  but  only  his  shooting  jacket  and 
cap,  which  were  hanging  on  an  alpenstock,  as 
hunters  sometimes  place  them  to  deceive  the 
chamois.  And  in  great  misery  Babette  ex- 
claimed— 

"  Oh  that  I  had  died  on  my  wedding-day — the 
day  that  was  the  happiest  of  my  life !  O  Lord 
my  God !  that  would  have  been  a  mercy — a 
blessing  !  That  would  have  been  the  best  thing 
that  could  have  happened  for  me  and  Rudy. 
1^0  one  knows  his  future  fate."  And  in  impi- 
ous despair  she  cast  herself  down  into  the  deep 
mountain  chasm.  A  string  seemed  to  have 
broken — a  tone  of  sorrow  was  echoed  aromid. 

Babette  awoke.  Her  vision  was  at  an  end, 
and  what  had  happened  in  the  dream-world 
had  partially  vanished  fi'om  her  mind ;  but  she 
knew  that  she  had  dreamt  something  frightfid, 
and  dreamt  about  the  young  Englishman,  whom 


LITTLE   EIJDT. 


105 


she  had  not  seen  or  thought  of  for  several 
months.  Could  he  still  be  at  Montreux? 
"Would  she  see  him  at  her  wedding  ?  A  slight 
shade  of  displeasure  stole  around  Babette's 
pretty  mouth,  and  for  a  moment  her  eyebrows 
knitted;  but  soon  came  a  smile  and  a  gay 
sparkle  in  her  eyes.  The  sun  was  shining  so 
brightly  without,  and  to-morrow  was  her  and 
Kudy's  wedding-day ! 

He  was  already  in  the  parlor  when  she  came 
down,  and  shortly  after  they  set  oif  for  Ville- 
neuve.  The  two  were  all  happiness,  and  the 
miller  likewise ;  he  laughed  and  joked,  and  was 
in  the  highest  spirits.  A  kind  father,  a  good 
soul,  he  was. 

"  ]^ow  we  have  the  house  to  ourselves,"  said 
the  parlor  cat. 


THE   CONCLUSION. 


T  was  not  yet  late  in  the  clay  when  the 
^  three  joyous  travellers  reached  Yille- 
neuve.  After  they  had  dined,  the  miller 
placed  himself  in  a  comfortable  arm-chair 
with  his  pipe,  intending,  when  he  had 
done  smoking,  to  take  a  short  naj).  The 
affianced  couple  went  arm  in  arm  out  of 
the  town,  along  the  high  road,  under  the  wooded 
hills  that  bordered  the  blue-green  lake.  The 
gray  walls  and  heavy  towers  of  the  melancholy- 
looking  Chillon  were  reflected  in  the  clear  wa- 
ter. The  little  island  with  the  three  acacias 
seemed  quite  near ;  it  looked  like  a  bouquet  on 
the  calm  lake. 

"  How  charming  it  must  be  over  yonder  !" 
exclaimed  Babette,  who  felt  again  the  greatest 
desire  to  go  to  it ;  and  her  wish  might  be  gratified 
at  once,  for  a  boat  was  lying  close  to  the  bank, 
and  the  rope  by  which  it  was  secured  was  easy 


LITTLE   EUDT.  107 

to  undo.  There  was  no  one  to  be  seen  of  whom 
tliey  could  ask  permission  to  take  it,  so  they 
got  into  it  without  leave.  Kndj  knew  very 
well  how  to  row.  The  oars,  like  the  fins  of  a 
fish,  divided  the  mass  of  water  that  is  so  pliant 
and  yet  so  potent,  so  strong  to  bear,  so  ready 
to  swallow — gentle,  smiling,  smoothness  itself, 
and  yet  terror-inspiring  and  mighty  to  de- 
stroy. A  line  of  foam  floated  behind  the 
boat,  which,  in  a  few  minutes,  arrived  at  the 
little  island,  where  the  happy  pair  immedi- 
ately landed.  There  was  just  room  for  two  to 
dance. 

Rudy  swung  Babette  three  or  four  times 
round,  and  then  they  sat  down  on  the  little 
bench  under  the  drooping  acacia,  and  looked 
into  each  other's  eyes,  and  held  each  other's 
hands,  while  around  them  streamed  the  last 
rays  of  the  setting  sun.  The  pine  forests  on 
the  hills  assumed  a  purplish  red  tint  resem- 
bling the  hue  of  the  blooming  heather;  and 
where  the  trees  stopped,  and  the  bare  rocks 
stood  forward,  there  was  a  rich  lustre,  as  if  the 
mountain  were  transparent.  The  skies  were 
brilliant  with  a  crimson  glow;  the  whole  lake 
was  covered  with  a  tinge  of  pink,  as  if  it  had 
been  thickly  strewn  with  fresh  blushing  roses. 


108  LITTLE   EUDT. 

As  tlie  shades  of  evening  gathered  around  the 
snow-decked  mountains  o£  Savoy,  they  became 
of  a  dark  blue  in  color,  but  the  highest  peaks 
shone  like  red  lava,  and  for  a  moment  reflected 
their  light  on  the  mountain  forms  before  these 
vast  masses  were  lost  in  darkness.  It  was  the 
Alpine  glow,  and  Rudy  and  Babette  thought 
they  had  never  before  beheld  one  so  magnifi- 
cent. The  snow-bedecked  Dent  dii  Midi 
gleamed  like  the  disk  of  the  full  moon  when  it 
shows  itself  above  the  horizon. 

"  Oh,  what  beauty !  oh,  what  pleasure  !"  ex- 
claimed the  lovers  at  the  same  time. 

"  Earth  can  bestow  no  more  on  me,"  said 
Eudy ;  "  an  evening  like  this  is  as  a  whole  life. 
How  often  have  I  been  sensible  of  my  good 
fortune,  as  I  am  sensible  of  it  now,  and  have 
thought,  that  if  every  thing  were  to  come  at 
once  to  an  end  for  me,  I  have  lived  a  happy 
life  !  What  a  blessed  world  is  this  !  One  day 
ends,  but  another  begins,  and  I  always  fancy 
the  last  is  the  brightest  Our  Lord  is  infinitely 
good,  Babette." 

"  I  am  so  happy !"  she  whispered. 

"  Earth  can  bestow  no  more  on  me,"  repeated 
Rudy.  And  the  evening  bells  rang  from  the 
hills  of  Savoy  and  the  mountains  of  Switzer- 


LITTLE  KUDT.  109 

land.  In  golden  sj^lendor  stood  forth  towards 
the  west  tlie  dark-blue  Jura. 

"  God  grant  you  all  that  is  brightest  and 
best !"  exclaimed  Babette  fervently. 

"  He  will,"  said  Rudy ;  '"  to-morrow  will  ful- 
fil that  wish — to-morrow  you  will  be  wholly 
mine- — my  own  little  charming  wife." 

"  The  boat !"  cried  Babette,  at  that  moment. 

The  boat  which  was  to  take  them  across 
again  had  got  loose,  and  was  drifting  away 
from  the  island. 

"  I  will  bring  it  back,"  said  Rudy,  as  he  took 
off  his  coat  and  boots,  and  springing  into  the 
lake,  swam  vigorously  towards  the  boat. 

Cold  and  deep  was  the  clear  bluish-green  icy 
water  from  the  glacier  of  the  mountain.  Rudy 
looked  down  into  it — he  took  but  a  glance,  yet 
he  saw  a  gold  ring  trembling,  glittering,  and 
playing  there.  He  thought  of  his  lost  be- 
trothal ring,  and  the  ring  became  larger  and 
extended  itself  out  into  a  sparkling  circle, 
within  which  appeared  the  clear  glacier ;  end- 
less deep  chasms  yawned  around  it,  and  the 
water  dropped  tinkling  like  the  sound  of  bells, 
and  gleaming  with  pale  blue  flames.  In  a  sec- 
ond he  beheld  what  it  will  take  many  words  to 
describe.  Young  hunters  and  young  girls,  men 
10 


110  LITTLE   EUDY. 

and  ■svumen  who  had  been  lost  in  the  cre/asses 
of  the  glacier,  stood  there,  lifelike,  with  open 
eyes  and  smiling  lips ;  and  far  beneath  them 
arose  from  buried  villages  the  church-bells' 
chimes.  Multitudes  knelt  under  the  vaulted 
roofs ;  ice-blocks  formed  the  organ-pipes,  and 
the  mountain  torrents  made  the  music.  The 
Ice-maiden  sat  on  the  clear  transparent  ground ; 
she  raised  herself  up  towards  Rudy,  and  kissed 
his  feet,  and  tliere  passed  throughout  his  limbs 
a  death-like  chill,  an  electric  shock — ice  and 
fire ;  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish  one  from 
the  other  in  the  quick  touch. 

"  Mine !  mine !"  sounded  around  him  and 
within  him.  "  I  kissed  thee  when  thou  wert 
little — kissed  thee  on  thy  mouth  !  Now  I  kiss 
thee  on  thy  feet ;  now  thou  art  wholly  mine !" 

And  he  disappeared  in  the  clear  blue  water. 

All  was  still  around.  The  church-bells  had 
ceased  to  ring ;  their  last  tones  had  died  away 
along  with  the  last  streak  of  red  on  the  skies 
above. 

"  Thou  art  mine !"  resounded  in  the  depths 
below.  "  Thou  art  mine !"  resounded  from  be- 
yond the  heights — from  infinity  ! 

Happy  to  pass  from  love  to  love,  from  earth 
to  heaven ! 


LITTLE  EUDT.  Ill 

A  string  seemed  to  have  broken — a  tone  of 
sorrow  was  echoed  around.  The  ice-kiss  of 
death  had  triumphed  over  the  corruptible ;  the 
prehide  to  the  drama  of  life  had  ended  before 
the  game  itself  had  begun.  All  that  seemed 
harsh,  or  sounded  harshly,  had  subsided  intf 
harmony. 

Do  you  call  this  a  sad  story  ? 

Poor  Babette!  For  her  it  was  an  hour  o^ 
anguish.  The  boat  drifted  further  and  further 
away.  I^o  one  on  the  mainland  knew  that  the 
betrothed  couple  had  gone  over  to  the  little 
island.  The  evening  advanced,  the  clouds 
gathered,  darkness  came.  Alone,  despairing, 
wailing,  she  stood  there.  A  furious  storm  came 
on ;  the  lightning  played  over  the  Jura  moun- 
tains, and  over  those  of  Switzerland  and  Savoy, 
from  all  sides  flash  followed  upon  flash,  while 
the  peals  of  thunder  rolled  in  all  directions  for 
many  minutes  at  a  time.  One  moment  the 
lightning  was  so  vivid  that  all  around  became 
as  bright  as  day — every  single  vine-stem  could 
be  seen  as  distinctly  as  at  the  hour  of  noon — 
and  in  another  moment  the  blackest  darkness 
enveloped  all.  The  lightning  darted  in  zigzags 
around  the  lake,  and  the  roar  of  the  thunder 
was  echoed  among  the  surrounding  hills.     On 


112  LITTLE   ETTDT. 

land  tlie  boats  were  drawn  far  np  the  beach, 
and  all  that  were  living  had  Bought  shel- 
ter. And  now  the  rain  poured  down  in  tor- 
rents. 

"  AVhere  can  Rudy  and  Babette  be  in  this 
awful  weather  ?"  said  the  miller. 

Babette  sat  with  folded  hands,  with  her  head 
in  her  lap,  exhausted  by  grief,  by  screaming,  by 
weeping. 

"  In  the  deep  water,"  she  sobbed  to  her- 
self, "  far  down  yonder,  as  under  a  glacier,  he 
lies." 

Slie  remembered  what  Rudy  had  told  her 
about  liis  mother's  death,  and  of  his  being  saved 
himself  when  taken  up  apparently  dead  from 
the  cleft  in  the  glacier.  "  The  Ice-maiden  has 
aim  again !" 

And  there  came  a  flash  of  lightning  as  daz- 
zling as  the  sun's  rays  on  the  white  snow.  Ba- 
bette looked  up.  The  lake  rose  at  that  mo- 
ment like  a  shining  glacier;  the  Ice-maiden 
stood  there,  majestic,  pale,  glittering,  and  at  her 
feet  lay  Rudy's  corpse. 

"  Mine  !"  she  cried,  and  again  all  around  was 
yloom,  and  darkness,  and  torrents  of  rain. 

"  Terrible  !"  groaned  Babette.  "  Why  should 
ne  die  just  when  our  happy  day  was  so  close 


LITTLE  KUDY.  113 

at  Land?  Great  God,  enlighten  my  under- 
standing—shed  light  upon  my  heart !  I  com- 
prehend not  Thy  ways,  determined  by  Thine 
ahnighty  power  and  wisdom." 

And  God  did  shed  light  on  her  heart.  A 
retrospective  glance — a  sense  of  grace — her 
dream  of  the  preceding  night — all  crowded  to- 
gether on  her  mind.  She  remembered  the 
words  she  had  spoken — a  wish  for  that  which 
might  be  best  for  herself  and  Rudy. 

"  Woe  is  me  !  Was  it  the  germ  of  sin  in  my 
heart  ?  Was  my  dream  a  glimpse  into  the  fu- 
ture, whose  course  had  to  be  thus  violently 
arrested  to  save  me  from  guilt?  Unhappy 
wretch  that  I  am !" 

She  sat  wailing  there  in  the  pitch-dark 
night.  During  the  deep  stillness  seemed  to  ring 
around  her  Rudy's  words — the  last  he  had  ever 
spoken — "  Earth  can  bestow  no  more  on  me !" 
Their  sound  was  fraught  with  the  fulness  of 
joy;  they  were  echoed  amidst  the  depths  of 
grief. 


Some  few  years  have  elapsed  since   then. 

The  lake  smiles,  its  shores  smile;  the  vines 
10* 


114  LITTLE   ETjDT. 

bear  luscious  grapes ;  steamboats  with  waving 
flags  glide  swiftly  by ;  pleasure-boats  with  theii* 
two  unfurled  sails  skim  like  white  butterflies 
over  tlie  watery  mirror;  tbe  raihvay  beyond 
Cliillon  is  open,  and  it  goes  far  into  the  valley 
of  the  Rhone.  At  every  station  strangers  issue 
from  it — they  come  with  their  red-bound  guide- 
books, and  study  therein  what  they  ought  to 
see.  They  visit  Chillon,  observe  in  the  lake 
the  little  island  with  the  three  acacias,  and  read 
in  the  book  about  a  bridal  pair  who,  in  the 
year  1856,  rowed  over  to  it  one  afternoon — of 
the  bridegroom's  death,  and  that  not  till  the 
next  morning  were  heard  uj^on  the  shore  the 
bride's  despairing  cries. 

But  the  guide-book  gives  no  account  of  Ba- 
bette's  quiet  life  at  her  father's  house — not  at  the 
mill  (strangers  now  live  there),  but  at  a  pretty 
spot  whence  from  her  window  she  can  often 
look  beyond  the  chestnut-trees  to  the  snowy 
hills  over  which  Budy  loved  to  range ;  she  can 
see  at  the  hour  of  evening  the  Alpine  glow — up 
where  the  children  of  the  sun  revel,  and  repeat 
their  song  about  the  wanderer  whose  cap  the 
whirlwind  carried  ofl",  but  it  could  not  take 
himself. 

There  is  a  rosy  tint  upon  the  mountain's 


LITTLE  KUDT. 


115 


snow — there  is  a  rosy  tint  in  every  heart,  which 
admits  the  thought,  "  God  ordains  what  is  best 
for  US !"  But  it  is  not  vouchsafed  to  us  all  so 
fully  to  feel  *;liis,  as  it  was  to  Babette  in  her 
'ream. 


THE  BUTTERFLY. 


'HE  Butterfly  was  looking  out  for  a 
bride,  and  naturally  he  wished  to  se- 
lect a  nice  one  among  the  flowers. 
He  looked  at  them,  sitting  so  quietly 
and  discreetly  upon  their  stems,  as  a 
damsel  generally  sits  when  she  is  not 
engaged ;  but  there  were  so  many  to 
choose  among,  that  it  became  quite  a  difiicult 
matter.  The  Butterfly  did  not  relish  encoun- 
tering difficulties,  so  in  his  perplexity  he  flew 
to  the  Daisy.  She  is  called  in  France  Mar- 
guerite. He  knew  that  she  could  "  spae,"  and 
that  she  did  so  often ;  for  lovers  plucked  leaf 
after  leaf  from  her,  and  with  each  a  question 
Yv'as  asked  respecting  the  beloved : — "Is  it  true 
love?"  "From  the  heart?"  "  Love  that  pines  ?" 
"  Cold  love  ?"  "  None  at  all  ?" — or  some  such 
questions.  Every  one  asks  in  his  own  language. 
The  Butterfly  came  too  to  put  his  questions ; 
he  did  not,  however,  pluck  oif  the  leaves,  but 


THE    BUTTERFLY.  117 

kissed  them  all  one  by  one,  witli  tlie  hope  of 
getting  a  good  answer. 

"  Sweet  Marguerite  Daisy,"  said  he,  "  you 
are  the  wisest  wife  among  all  the  flowers  ;  you 
know  how  to  predict  events.  Tell  me,  shall  I 
get  this  one,  or  that?  or  whom  shall  I  get? 
When  I  know,  I  can  fly  straight  to  the  fair  one, 
and  commence  wooing  her." 

But  Marguerite  would  scarcely  answer  him ; 
she  was  vexed  at  his  calling  her  "  wife,"  for  she 
was  still  unmarried,  and  therefore  was  not  a 
wife.  He  asked  a  second  time,  and  he  asked 
a  third  time,  but  he  could  not  get  a  word  out 
of  her ;  so  he  would  not  take  the  trouble  to  ask 
any  more,  but  flew  away,  without  further  ado, 
on  his  matrimonial  errand. 

It  was  in  the  early  spring,  and  there  were 
plenty  of  Snowdrops  and  Crocuses.  "They 
are  very  nice-looking,"  said  the  Butterfly : 
"  charming  little  things,  but  somewhat  too  ju- 
venile." He,  like  most  very  young  men,  pre- 
ferred elder  girls.  Thereupon  he  flew  to  the 
Anemones,  but  they  were  rather  too  bashful  for 
him ;  the  Yiolets  were  too  enthusiastic ;  the  Tu- 
lips were  too  fond  of  show ;  the  Jonquils  were 
too  plebeian  ;  the  Linden-tree  blossoms  were  too 
small,  and  they  had  too  large  a  family  connec- 


118  THE   BUTTEEFLT. 

tion ;  the  Apple  blossoms  were  certainly  as 
lovely  as  Roses  to  look  at,  but  they  stood  to- 
day, and  fell  off  to-morrow,  as  the  wind  blew. 
It  would  not  be  worth  while  to  enter  into  wed- 
lock for  so  short  a  time,  he  thought.  The 
Sweetpea  was  the  one  which  pleased  him  most ; 
she  was  pink  and  white,  she  was  pure  and  del- 
icate, and  belonged  to  that  class  of  notable 
gu-ls  who  always  look  well,  yet  can  make  them- 
selves useful  in  the  kitchen.  He  was  on  the 
point  of  making  an  offer  to  lier,  when  at  that 
moment  he  observed  a  peapod  hanging  close 
by,  with  a  withered  flower  at  the  end  of  it. 
"  Who  is  that  ?"  he  asked.  "  My  sister,"  re- 
plied the  Sweetpea.  "  Indeed !  then  you  will 
probably  come  to  look  like  her  by  and  by,"  ex- 
clpimed  the  Butterfly  as  he  flew  on. 

The  Honeysuckles  hung  over  the  hedge; 
they  were  extremely  ladylike,  but  they  had 
long  faces  and  yellow  complexions.  They  were 
not  to  his  taste.  But  who  was  to  his  taste  ? 
Ay  !  ask  him  that. 

The  spring  had  passed,  the  summer  had  pass- 
ed, and  autumn  was  passing  too.  The  flowers 
were  still  clad  in  brilliant  robes,  but,  alas ! 
the  fresh  fragrance  of  youth  was  gone.  Fra- 
grance was  a  great  attraction  to  him,  though 


THE   BTJTTERFLT.  119 

no  longer  young  himself,  and  there  was  none 
to  be  found  among  tlie  Dahlias  and  Holly- 
hocks. So  the  Butterfly  stooped  down  to  the 
Wild  Thyme. 

"  She  has  scarcely  any  blossom,  but  she  is 
altogether  a  flower  herself,  and  all  fragrance — 
every  leaflet  is  full  of  it.     I  will  take  her." 

So  he  began  to  woo  forthwith. 

But  the  Wild  Thyme  stood  stiff  and  still ; 
and  at  length  she  said,  "  Friendship,  but  noth- 
ing more !  I  am  old,  and  you  are  old.  We 
may  very  well  live  for  each  other,  but  marry- 
no  !  Let  us  not  make  fools  of  ourselves  in  our 
old  age !" 

So  the  Butterfly  got  no  one.  He  had  been 
too  long  on  the  lookout,  and  that  one  should 
not  be.  The  Butterfly  became  an  old  bachelor, 
as  it  is  called. 

It  was  late  in  the  autumn,  and  there  was 
nothing  but  drizzling  rain  and  pouring  rain  ;  the 
wind  blew  coldly  on  the  old  willow-trees  till  the 
leaves  shivered  and  the  branches  cracked.  It 
was  not  pleasant  to  fly  about  in  summer  cloth- 
ing :  this  is  the  time,  it  is  said,  when  domestic 
love  is  most  needed.  But  the  Butterfly  flew 
about  no  more.  He  had  accidentally  gone 
within-doors,  where  there  was  fire  in  the  stove, 


120  THE   BUTTERFLY. 

— yes,  real  summer  heat.  He  could  live,  but 
"  to  live  is  not  enough,"  said  lie ;  "  smisliine, 
freedom,  and  a  little  flower,  one  must  have." 

And  he  flew  against  the  window-pane,  was 
observed,  admired,  and  stuck  upon  a  needle  in 
a  case  of  curiosities.  More  they  could  not  do 
for  him. 

"  ISTow  I  am  sitting  on  a  stem  like  the  flowers," 
said  the  Butterfly ;    "  very  pleasant  it  is  not,  • 
liowever.     It  is  almost  like  being  married — one 
is  tied  so  fast."     And  he  tried  to  comfort  him- 
self with  this  reflection. 

"  That  is  poor  comfort !"  exclaimed  the  plants 
in  the  flower-pots  in  the  room. 

"  But  one  can  hardly  believe  a  plant  in  a 
flower-pot,"  thought  the  Butterfly ;  "  they  are 
too  much  among  human  beings." 


PSYCHE. 


T  the  dawn  of  day  througli  the  red  at- 
mosphere shines  a  large  star,  morning's 
clearest  star ;  its  ray  quivers  upon  the 
white  wall,  as  if  it  would  there  in- 
scribe what  it  had  to  relate — what  in 
the  course  of  a  thousand  years  it  has 
witnessed  here  and  there  on  our  re- 
volving earth. 

Listen  to  one  of  its  histories  : 
Lately  (its  lately  is  a  century  ago  to  us  hu- 
man beings)  my  rays  watched  a  young  artist ;; 
it  was  in  the  territory  of  the  Pope,  in  the  cap- 
ital of  the  world — Home.  Much  has  changed 
there  in  the  flight  of  years,  but  nothing  so  raj)- 
idly  as  the  change  which  takes  place  in  th& 
human  form  between  childhood  and  old  age.. 
The  imperial  city  was  then,  as  now,  in  ruins ; 
fig-trees  and  laurels  grew  among  the  fallen 
marble  pillars,  and  over  the  shattered  bath- 
chambers,  with  then'  gold-enamelled  walls ;  the 
11 


122  PSYCHE. 

Coliseum  was  a  ruin ;  tlie  bells  of  the  cliurches 
rang,  incense  perfumed  tlie  air;  processions 
moved  with  lights  and  splendid  canopies  through 
the  streets.  The  Holy  Church  ruled  all,  and 
art  was  patronized  by  it.  At  Kome  lived  the 
world's  greatest  painter,  Raphael ;  there  also 
lived  the  first  sculptor  of  his  age,  Michael  An- 
gelo.  The  Pope  himself  paid  homage  to  these 
two  artists,  and  honored  them  by  his  visits. 
Art  was  appreciated,  admired,  and  recompensed. 
But  even  then  not  all  that  was  great  and  worthy 
of  praise  was  known  and  brought  forward. 

In  a  narrow  little  street  stood  an  old  house ; 
it  had  formerly  been  a  temple,  and  there  dwelt 
a  young  artist.  He  was  poor  and  unknown ; 
however,  he  had  a  few  young  friends,  artists 
like  himself,  young  in  mind,  in  hopes,  in 
thoughts.  They  told  him  that  he  was  rich  in 
talent,  but  that  he  was  a  fool,  since  he  never 
would  believe  in  his  own  pov/ers.  He  always 
destroyed  what  he  had  formed  in  clay ;  he  was 
never  satisfied  with  any  thing  he  did,  and  never 
had  any  thing  finished  so  as  to  have  it  seen  and 
known,  and  it  was  necessary  to  have  this  to 
make  money. 

"  You  are  a  dreamer,"  they  said,  "  and  therein 
lies  yom'  misfortune.     But  this  aiises  from  your 


PSYCHE.  123 

never  having  lived  yet,  not  having  tasted  life, 
enjoyed  it  in  large  exhilerating  draughts,  as  it 
ought  to  be  enjoyed.  It  is  only  in  youth  that 
one  can  do  this.  '  Look  at  the  great  master, 
Raphael,  whom  the  Pope  honors  and  the  world 
admires:  he  does  not  abstain  from  wine  and 
good  fare." 

"  He  dines  with  the  baker's  wife,  the  charm- 
ing Fornarina,"  said  Angelo,  one  of  the  liveli- 
est of  the  young  group. 

They  all  talked  a  great  deal,  after  the  fashion 
of  gay  young  men.  They  insisted  on  carrying 
the  youthful  artist  off  with  them  to  scenes  of 
amusement  and  riot— scenes  of  folly  they  might 
have  been  called — and  for  a  moment  he  felt  in- 
clined to  accompany  them.  His  blood  was 
warm,  his  fancy  powerful;  he  could  join  in 
their  jovial  chat,  and  laugh  as  loud  as  any  of 
them ;  yet  what  they  called  "  Raphael's  pleas- 
ant life"  vanished  from  his  mind  like  a  morning 
mist :  he  thought  only  of  the  inspiration  that 
was  apparent  in  the  great  master's  works.  If  he 
stood  in  the  Yatican,  near  the  beautiful  forms 
the  masters  of  a  thousand  years  before  had  cre- 
ated out  of  marble  blocks,  then  his  breast 
heaved;  he  felt  within  himself  something  so 
elevated,  so  holy,  so  grand  and  good,  that  he 


124  PSYCHE. 

longed  to  chisel  such  statues  fi"om  the  marble 
blocks.  He  wished  to  give  a  form  to  the  glori- 
ous conceptions  of  his  mind;  but  how,  and 
what  form  ?  The  soft  clay  that  was  moulded 
into  beautiful  figures  bj  his  fingers  one  day, 
was  the  next  day,  as  usual,  broken  up. 

Once,  as  he  was  passing  one  of  the  rich  pala- 
ces, of  which  there  are  so  many  at  Rome,  he 
stepped  within  the  large  open  entrance  court, 
and  saw  arched  corridors  adorned  with  statues, 
inclosing  a  little  garden  full  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful roses.  Great  white  flowers,  with  green 
juicy  leaves,  shot  up  the  marble  basin,  where 
the  clear  waters  splashed,  and  near  it  glided  a 
figure,  that  of  a  young  girl,  the  daughter  of  the 
princely  house — so  delicate,  so  light,  so  lovely  ! 
He  had  never  beheld  so  beautiful  a  woman. 
Yes — painted  by  Raphael,  painted  as  Psyche, 
in  one  of  the  palaces  of  Rome !  Yes — there 
she  stood  as  if  living ! 

She  also  lived  in  his  thoughts  and  heart. 
And  he  hurried  home  to  his  humble  apartment, 
and  formed  a  Psyche  in  clay ;  it  was  the  rich, 
the  high-born  young  Roman  lady,  and  for  the 
fii'st  time  he  looked  with  satisfaction  on  his 
work.  It  was  life  itself — it  was  herself.  And 
his  friends,  when  they  saw  it,  were  loud  in  their 


PSYCHE.  125 

congratulations.  This  work  was  a  proof  of  his 
excellence  in  art :  that  they  had  themselves  al- 
ready known,  and  the  world  should  now  know 
it  also. 

Clay  may  look  fleshy  and  lifelike,  but  it  has 
not  the  whiteness  of  marble,  and  does  not  last 
so  long.  His  Psyche  must  be  sculptured  in 
marble,  and  the  expensive  block  of  marble 
required  he  already  possessed :  it  had  lain  for 
many  years,  a  legacy  from  his  parents,  in  the 
court-yard.  Broken  bottles,  decayed  vegeta- 
bles, and  all  manner  of  refuse,  had  been  heaped 
on  it  and  soiled  it,  but  within  it  was  white  as 
the  moim.tain  snow.  Psyche  was  to  be  chis- 
elled from  it.        ~ 

One  day  it  happened  (the  clear  star  tells 
nothing  of  this,  for  it  did  not  see  what  passed, 
but  we  know  it),  a  distinguished  Poman  party 
came  to  the  narrow  humble  street.  The  car- 
riage stopped  near  it.  The  party  had  come  to 
see  the  young  artist's  work,  of  which  they  had 
heard  by  accident.  And  who  were  these  aris- 
tocratic visitors  ?  Unfortunate  young  man ! 
All  too  happy  young  man,  he  might  also  well 
have  been  called.  The  young  girl  herself  stood 
there  in  his  studio ;  and  with  what  a  smile  when 
her  father  exclaimed,  "  But  it  is  you,  you  you^- 
11* 


126  PSYCHE. 

self  to  the  life  !"  That  smile  could  not  be  cop- 
ied, that  glance  could  not  be  imitated — that 
speaking  glance  which  she  cast  on  the  young 
artist!  It  was  a  glance  that  fascinated,  en- 
chanted, and  destroyed. 

"  The  Psyche  must  be  finished  in  marble," 
said  the  rich  nobleman.  And  that  was  a  life- 
giving  word  to  the  inanimate  clay  and  to  the 
heavy  marble  block,  as  it  was  a  life-giving  word 
to  the  young  man. 

"  "When  the  work  is  finished,  I  will  pm'chase 
it,"  said  the  noble  visitor. 

It  seemed  as  if  a  new  era  had  dawned  on  the 
humble  studio  ;  joy  and  sprightliness  enlivened 
it  now,  and  ennui  fled  before  constant  employ- 
ment. The  bright  morning  star  saw  how 
quickly  the  work  advanced.  The  clay  itself 
became  as  if  animated  with  a  soul,  for  even  in 
it  stood  forth,  in  perfect  beauty,  each  now  well- 
known  feature. 

"  Kow  I  know  what  life  is,"  exclaimed  the 
young  artist  joyfully;  "it  is  love.  There  is 
_glory  in  the  excellent,  rapture  in  the  beautiful. 
What  my  friends  call  life  and  enjoyment  are 
■corrupt  and  perishable — they  are  bubbles  in 
the  fermenting  dregs,  not  the  pm'e  heavenly 
■altar-wine  that  consecrates  life. 


^w»  PSYCHE.  12  Y 

The  block  of  marble  was  raised,  the  chisel 
hewed  large  pieces  from  it ;  it  was  measured, 
pointed,  and  marked.  The  work  proceeded; 
little  by  little,  the  stone  assumed  a  form,  a 
form  of  beauty — Psyche — charming  as  God's 
creation  in  the  young  female.  The  heavy  mar- 
ble became  life-like,  dancing,  airy,  and  a  grace- 
ful Psyche,  with  the  bright  smile  so  heavenly 
and  innocent,  such  as  had  mirrored  itself  in  the 
young  sculptor's  heart. 

The  star  of  the  rose-tinted  morn  saw  it,  and 
well  understood  what  was  stirring  in  the  young 
man's  heart— understood  the  changing  color  on 
his  cheek,  the  fire  in  his  eye — as  he  carved  the 
likeness  of  what  God  had  created. 

"  Tou  are  a  master,  such  as  those  in  the  time 
of  the  Greeks,"  said  his  delighted  friends. 
"  The  whole  world  will  soon  admire  your 
Psyche." 

"  My  Psyche !  he  exclaimed.  "  Mine !  Yes, 
such  she  must  be.  I  too  am  an  artist  like  those 
great  ones  of  by-gone  days.  God  has  bestowed 
on  me  the  gift  of  genius,  which  raises  its  pos- 
sessor to  a  level  with  the  high-born." 

And  he  sank  on  his  knees,  and  wept  his 
thanks  to  God,  and  then  forgot  Him  for  her — 
fV>r  her  image  in  marble.     The  figure  of  Psyche 


128  PSYCHE. 

stood  there,  as  if  formed  of  snow,  blusMng  rosy 
red  on  the  morning  sun. 

In  reality  lie  was  to  see  her,  Kving,  moving, 
her  whose  voice  had  sounded  like  the  sweetest 
music.  He  was  to  go  to  the  splendid  palace, 
to  announce  that  the  marble  Psyche  was  fin- 
ished. He  went  thither,  passed  through  the 
open  court  to  where  the  water  poured,  splash- 
ing from  dolphins,  into  the  marble  basin,  around 
which  the  white  flowers  clustered,  and  the  roses 
shed  their  fragrance.  He  entered  the  large 
lofty  hall,  whose  walls  and  roof  were  adorned 
with  armorial  bearings  and  heraldic  designs. 
"Well-dressed,  pompous-looking  servants  strut- 
ted up  and  down,  like  sleigh-horses  with  their 
jingling  bells ;  others  of  them,  insolent-looking 
fellows,  were  stretched  at  their  ease  on  hand- 
somely carved  wooden  benches;  they  seemed 
the  masters  of  the  house.  He  told  his  errand, 
and  was  then  conducted  up  the  white  marble 
stairs,  which  were  covered  with  soft  carpets. 
Statues  were  arranged  on  both  sides ;  he  passed 
through  handsome  rooms  with  pictures  and 
bright  mosaic  floors.  For  a  moment  he  felt 
oppressed  by  all  this  magnificence  and  splendor 
— it  nearly  took  away  his  breath.  But  he 
speedily  recovered  himself;    for  the  princely 


The  Repulse. 


^^  PSYCHE.  129 

owner  of  the  mansion  received  him  kindly,  al 
most  cordially,  and,  after  tliey  had  finished 
their  conversation,  requested  him,  when  bid- 
ding him  adieu,  to  go  to  the  apartments  of 
the  young  Signora,  who  wished  also  to  see 
him.  Servants  marshalled  him  through  su- 
perb saloons  and  suites  of  rooms  to  the  chamber 
where  she  sat,  elegantly  dressed  and  radiant  in 
beauty. 

She  spoke  to  him.  Ko  Miserere,  no  tones  of 
sacred  music,  could  more  have  melted  the 
heart  and  elevated  the  soul.  He  seized  her 
hand,  and  carried  it  to  his  lips ;  never  was  rose 
so  soft.  But  there  issued  a  fire  from  that  rose 
— a  fire  that  penetrated  through  him  and  tm-ned 
his  head;  words  poured  forth  from  his  lips, 
which  he  scarcely  knew  himself,  like  the  crater 
pouring  forth  glowing  lava.  He  told  her  of 
his  love.  She  stood  amazed,  offended,  insulted, 
with  a  haughty  and  scornful  look,  an  expres- 
sion which  had  been  called  forth  instantane- 
ously by  his  passionate  avowal  of  his  sentiments 
towards  her.  Her  cheeks  glowed,  her  lips  be- 
came quite  pale ;  her  eyes  flashed  fire,  and  were 
yet  dark  as  ebon  night. 

"Madman!"  she  exclaimed ;  "begone!  away!" 
And  she  turned  angrily  from  him,  while  her 


130  PSYCHE. 

beautiful  countenance  assumed  the  look  of  that 
petrified  face  of  old  with  the  serpents  cluster- 
ing around  it  like  hair. 

Like  a  sinking  lifeless  thing,  he  descended 
into  the  street ;  like  a  sleep-walker  he  reached 
his  home.  But  there  he  awoke  to  pain  and 
fury ;  he  seized  his  hammer,  lifted  it  high  in 
the  air,  and  was  on  the  point  of  breaking  the 
beautiful  marble  statue,  but  in  his  distracted 
state  of  mind  he  had  not  observed  that  Angelo 
was  standing  near  him.  The  latter  caught  his 
arm,  exclaiming,  "  Have  you  gone  mad  ?  What 
would  you  do  ?" 

They  struggled  with  each  other.  Angelo 
was  the  stronger  of  the  two,  and,  drawing  a 
deep  breath,  the  young  sculptor  threw  himself 
on  a  chair. 

"  What  has  happened  ?"  asked  Angelo.  "  Be 
yourself,  and  speak." 

But  what  could  he  tell  ?  what  could  he  say  ? 
And  when  Angelo  found  that  he  could  get 
nothing  out  of  him,  he  gave  up  questioning  him. 

"  Your  blood  thickens  in  this  constant  dream- 
ing. Be  a  man  like  the  rest  of  us,  and  do  not 
live  only  in  the  ideal :  you  will  go  deranged  at 
this  rate.  Take  wine  until  you  feel  it  get  a 
little  into  your  head ;  that  will  make  you  sleep 


PSYCHE.  131 

well.  Let  a  pretty  girl  be  your  doctor ;  a  girl 
from  the  Campagna  is  as  charming  as  a  prin- 
cess in  her  marble  palace.  Both  are  the  daugh 
ters  of  Eve,  and  are  not  to  be  distinguished  from 
each  other  in  Paradise.  Follow  your  Angelo ! 
Let  me  be  your  angel,  the  angel  of  life  for  you ! 
The  time  will  come  when  you  will  be  old,  and 
your  limbs  will  be  useless  to  you.  Why,  on  a 
fine  sunny  day,  when  every  thing  is  laughing 
and  joyous,  do  you  look  like  a  withered  straw 
that  can  grow  no  more  ?  I  no  not  believe  what 
the  priests  say,  that  there  is  a  life  beyond  the 
grave.  It  is  a  pretty  fancy,  a  tale  for  chil- 
dren— pleasant  enough,  if  one  could  put  faith 
in  it.  I,  however,  do  not  live  in  fancies  only, 
but  in  the  world  of  realities.  Come  with  me ! 
Be  a  man !" 

And  he  drew  him  out  with  him ;  it  was  easy 
to  do  so  at  that  moment.  There  was  a  heat  in 
the  young  artist's  blood,  a  change  in  his  feel- 
ings ;  he  longed  to  throw  off  all  his  old  habits, 
all  that  he  was  accustomed  to — to  throw  off  his 
own  former  self — and  he  consented  to  accom- 
pany Angelo. 

On  the  outskirts  of  Rome  was  a  hostelry 
much  frequented  by  artists.  It  was  built  amidst 
the  ruins  of  an  old  bath-chamber;   the  large 


132  PSYCHE. 

yellow  lemons  himg  among  their  dark  bright 
leaves,  and  adorned  the  greatest  part  of  the  old 
reddish-gilt  walls.  The  hostelry  was  a  deep 
vault,  almost  like  a  hole  in  the  ruin.  A  lamp 
burned  within  it,  before  a  picture  of  the  Ma- 
donna; a  large  fire  was  blazing  in  the  stove 
(roasting,  boiling,  and  frying,  were  going  on 
there) ;"  on  the  outside,  under  lemon  and  lau- 
rel trees,  stood  two  tables  spread  for  refresh- 
ments. 

Kindly  and  joyously  were  the  two  artists 
welcomed  by  their  friends.  None  of  them  ate 
much,  but  they  all  drank  a  great  deal ;  that 
caused  hilarity.  There  was  singing  and  play- 
ing the  guitar;  Saltarello  sounded,  and  the 
merry  dance  began,  A  couple  of  young  Ro- 
man girls,  models  for  the  artists,  joined  in  the 
dance,  and  took  part  in  their  mirth — two  charm- 
ing Bacchantes !  They  had  not,  indeed,  the 
delicacy  of  Psyche — they  were  not  graceful 
lovely  roses — but  they  were  fresh,  hardy,  ruddy 
carnations. 

How  warm  it  was  that  day !  Warm  even 
after  the  sun  had  gone  down — heat  in  the  blood, 
heat  in  the  air,  heat  in  every  look !  The  at- 
mosphere seemed  to  be  composed  of  gold  and 
roses — ^life  itself  was  gold  and  roses. 


^=»^  PSYCHE.  133 

"  Now  at  last  yon  are  witli  ns !  Let  your- 
self be  borne  on  the  stream  around  yon  and 
within  you." 

"  I  never  before  felt  so  well  and  so  joyous," 
cried  the  young  sculptor.  "  You  are  right, 
you  are  all  right ;  I  was  a  fool,  a  visionary. 
Men  should  seek  for  realities,  and  not  wrap 
themselves  up  in  phantasies." 

Amidst  songs  and  the  tinkling  of  guitars,  the 
young  men  sallied  forth  from  the  hostelry,  and 
took  their  way,  in  the  clear  starlit  evening, 
through  the  small  streets ;  the  two  ruddy  car- 
nations, daughters  of  the  Campagna,  accompa- 
nied them.  In  Angelo's  room,  amidst  sketclies 
and  folios  scattered  about,  and  glowing  volup- 
tuous paintings,  their  voices  sounded  more  sub- 
dued, but  not  less  full  of  passion.  On  the  floor 
lay  many  a  drawing  of  the  Campagna's  daugh- 
ters in  various  attractive  attitudes ;  they  were 
full  of  beauty,  yet  the  originals  were  still  more 
beautiful.  The  six-branched  chandeliers  were 
burning,  and  the  light  glared  on  the  scene  of 
sensual  joy. 

"Apollo!  Jupiter!  Into  your  heaven  and 
happiness  am  I  wafted.  It  seems  as  if  the 
flower  of  life  has  in  this  moment  sprung  up  in 
my  heart."  13 


134  PSYCHE. 

Yes,  it  sprung  up,  but  it  broke  and  fell,  and 
a  deadening  hideous  sensation  seized  upon  him. 
It  dimmed  his  sight,  stupefied  his  mind ;  per- 
ception failed,  and  all  became  dark  around 
him. 

lie  gained  his  home,  sat  down  on  his  bed 
and  tried  to  collect  his  thoughts.  "  Fie  !"  was 
the  exclamation  uttered  by  his  own  mouth  from 
the  bottom  of  his  heart.  "  Wretch  !  begone  ! 
away !"  And  he  breathed  a  sigh  full  of  the 
deepest  grief. 

"  Begone  !  away  !"  These  words  of  hers — 
the  living  Psyche's  words — were  re-echoed  in 
his  breast,  re-echoed  from  his  lips.  He  laid  his 
head  on  his  pillow :  his  thoughts  became  con- 
fused, and  he  slept. 

At  the  dawn  of  day  he  arose,  and  sat  down 
to  reflect.  What  had  happened?  Had  he 
dreamt  it  all — dreamt  her  words — dreamt  his 
visit  to  the  hostelry,  and  the  evening  with  the 
flaunting  carnations  of  the  Campagna  ?  No,  all 
was  reality — a  reality  such  as  he  had  never  be- 
fore experienced. 

Through  the  purplish  haze  of  the  early  morn- 
ing shone  the  clear  star ;  its  rays  fell  upon  him 
and  upon  the  marble  Psyche.  He  trembled  as 
he  gazed  on  the  imperishable  image ;  he  felt  that 


^*^  PSTCHE,  135 

there  was  impurity  in  his  look,  and  he  threw  a 
covering  over  it.  Once  only  he  removed  the 
veil  to  touch  the  statue,  but  he  could  not  bear 
to  see  his  own  work. 

Quiet,  gloomy,  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts, 
he  sat  the  livelong  day.  lie  noticed  nothing, 
knew  nothing  of  what  was  going  on  about  him, 
and  no  one  knew  what  was  going  on  within  his 
heart. 

Days,  weeks  passed;  the  nights  were  the 
longest.  The  glittering  star  saw  him  one  morn- 
ing, pale,  shaking  with  fever,  arise  from  his 
couch,  go  to  the  marble  figure,  lift  the  veil  from 
it,  gaze  for  a  moment  witli  an  expression  of 
deep  devotion  and  sorrow  on  his  work,  and  then, 
almost  sinking  under  its  weight,  he  dragged 
the  statue  out  into  the  garden.  In  it  there 
was  a  dried-up,  dilapidated,  disused  well,  which 
coidd  only  be  called  a  deep  hole ;  he  sank  his 
Psyche  in  it,  threw  in  earth  over  it,  and  cov- 
ered the  new-made  grave  with  brushwood  and 
nettles. 

"  Begone !  away !"  was  the  short  funeral  ser- 
vice. 

The  star  witnessed  this  through  the  rose- 
tinted  atmosphere,  and  its  ray  quivered  on  two 
large  tears  upon  the  corpse-like  cheeks  of  the 


136  PSYCHE. 

young  fever-stricken  man — deatli-stricken  they 
called  him  on  his  sick-bed. 

The  monk  Ignatius  came  to  see  him  as  a 
friend  and  physician — came  with  religion's  com- 
forting words,  and  spoke  to  him  of  the  Church's 
happiness  and  peace,  of  the  sins  of  mankind, 
the  grace  and  mercy  of  God. 

And  his  words  fell  like  warm  sunbeams  on 
the  damp  spongy  ground;  it  steamed,  and  the 
misty  vapors  ascended  from  it,  so  that  the 
thoughts  and  mental  images  which  had  received 
their  shapes  from  realities  were  cleared,  and  he 
was  enabled  to  take  a  more  just  view  of  man's 
life.  The  delusions  of  guilt  abounded  in  it,  and 
such  there  had  been  for  him.  Art  was  a  sorcer- 
ess that  lured  us  to  vanity  and  earthly  lusts. 
We  are  false  towards  ourselves,  false  towards 
our  friends,  false  towards  our  God.  The  ser- 
pent always  repeats  within  us,  "  Eat  thereof  ^ 
then  your  eyes  shall  he  oj>ened,  and  ye  shall  he 
as  gods  .^" 

He  seemed  now  for  the  first  time  to  under- 
stand himself,  and  to  have  found  the  way  to 
truth  and  rest.  On  the  Church  shone  light 
from  on  high ;  in  the  monk's  cell  dwelt  that 
peace  amidst  which  the  human  tree  might  grow 
to  flourish  in  eternity. 


/ 


PSYCHE.  137 

Brotlier  Ignatius  eucoui'aged  these  senti- 
ments, and  the  artist's  resolution  was  taken. 
A  chUd  of  the  world  became  a  servant  of 
the  Church:  the  young  sculptor  bade  adieu 
to  all  his  former  pursuits,  and  went  into  a  mon- 
astery. 

How  kindly,  how  gladly,  was  he  received  by 
the  Brothers!  What  a  Sunday  fete  was  his 
initiation !  The  Almighty,  it  seemed  to  him, 
was  in  the  sunshine  that  illumined  the  church. 
His  glory  beamed  from  the  holy  images  and 
from  the  white  cross.  And  when  he  now,  at 
the  hour  of  the  setting  sun,  stood  in  his  little 
cell,  and,  opening  the  window,  looked  out  over 
the  ancient  Home,  the  ruined  temples,  the  mag- 
nificent but  dead  Coliseum — when  he  saw  all 
this  in  the  spring-time,  when  the  acacias  were 
in  bloom,  the  evergreens  were  fresh,  roses  burst- 
ing from  their  buds,  citrons  and  orange-trees 
shining,  palms  waving — ^lie  felt  himself  tran- 
quilized  and  cheered  as  he  had  never  been  be- 
fore. The  quiet  open  Campagna  extended  to- 
wards the  misty  snow-decked  hills,  which  seemed 
painted  in  the  air.  All,  blended  together, 
breathed  of  peace,  of  beauty,  so  soothingly,  so 
dreamily — a  dream  the  whole. 

Yes,  the  world  was  a  dream  here.  A  dream 
12=^ 


138  PSYCHE. 

may  continue  for  an  liour,  and  come  again  at 
another  hour ;  but  life  in  a  cloister  is  a  life  of 
years,  long  and  many. 

He  migiit  have  attested  the  truth  of  this  say- 
ing, that  from  within  comes  much  which  taints 
mankind.  What  was  that  fire  which  some- 
times blazed  throughout  him  ?  What  was  that 
source  from  which  evil,  against  his  will,  was  al- 
ways welling  forth  ?  He  scourged  his  body,  but 
from  within  came  the  evil  yet  again.  What 
was  that  spirit  within  him,  which  with  the  pli- 
ancy of  a  serpent  coiled  itself  up,  and  crept  into 
his  conscience  under  the  cloak  of  universal  love, 
and  comforted  him  ?  The  saints  pray  for  us, 
the  holy  mother  prays  for  us,  Jesus  Himself  has 
shed  his  blood  for  us.  Was  it  weakness  of  mind 
or  the  volatile  feelings  of  youth  that  caused  him 
sometimes  to  think  himself  received  into  grace, 
and  made  him  fancy  himself  exalted  by  that — 
exalted  over  so  many?  For  had  he  not  cast 
from  him  the  vanities  of  the  world  ?  Was  ho 
not  a  son  of  the  Church  ? 

One  day,  after  the  lapse  of  many  years,  he 
met  Angelo,  who  recognized  him. 

"  Man  !"  exclaimed  Angelo.  "  Yes,  sure- 
ly it  is  yourself.  Are  you  happy  now? 
You  have  sinned   against  God,  for  you  have 


PSYCHE.  139 

thrown  away  His  gracious  gift,  and  aban- 
doned your  mission  into  this  world.  Read 
the  parable  of  the  confided  talent.  The  Mas- 
ter who  related  it  spoke  the  truth.  What 
have  yon  won  or  found  ?  Have  you  not  allot- 
ted to  yourself  a  life  of  dreams?  Is  your 
religion  not  a  mere  coinage  of  the  brain? 
What  if  all  be  but  a  dream — pretty  yet  fan- 
tastic thoughts !" 

"  Away  from  me,  Satan !"  cried  the  monk,  as 
he  fled  from  Angelo. 

"  There  is  a  devil,  a  personified  devil !  I  saw 
him  to-day,"  groaned  the  monk.  "  I  only  held 
out  a  finger  to  him,  and  he  seized  my  whole 
hand !  Ah,  no  !"  he  sighed.  "  In  myself  there 
is  sin,  and  in  that  man  there  is  sin ;  but  he  is 
not  crushed  by  it — he  goes  with  brow  erect, 
and  lives  in  happiness.  I  seek  my  happiness 
in  the  consolations  of  religion.  If  only  they 
were  consolations — if  all  here,  as  in  the  world 
I  left,  were  but  pleasing  thoughts !  They  are 
delusions,  like  the  crimson  skies  of  evening,  like 
the  beautiful  sea-blue  tint  on  the  distant  hills. 
Close  by,  these  look  very  diiferent.  Eternity, 
thou  art  like  the  wide,  interminable,  calm-look- 
ing ocean:  it  beckons,  calls  us,  fills  us  with 
forebodings,  and  if  we  venture  on  it  we  sink, 


140  PSYCHE. 

we  disappear,  die,  cease  to  exist !  Delusions ! 
Begone !  away !" 

And  tearless,  lost  in  his  own  thoughts,  he  sat 
upon  his  hard  pallet ;  then  he  knelt.  Befoi-e 
whom  ?  The  stone  cross  that  stood  on  the  wall  ? 
No,  habit  alone  made  him  kneel  there. 

And  the  deeper  he  looked  into  himself,  the 
darker  became  his  thoughts.  "  Nothing  within, 
nothing  without — a  lifetime  wasted  !"  And 
that  cold  snowball  of  thought  rolled  on,  grew 
larger,  crushed  him,  destroyed  him. 

"  To  none  dare  I  speak  of  the  gnawing  worm 
within  me :  my  secret  is  my  prisoner.  If  I 
could  get  rid  of  it,  I  would  be  Thine,  O  God !" 

And  a  spirit  of  piety  awoke  and  struggled 
within  him. 

"  Lord !  Lord !"  he  exclaimed  in  his  despair. 
"  Be  merciful,  grant  me  faith  !  I  despised  and 
abandoned  Thy  gracious  gift — my  mission  into 
this  world.  I  was  wantmg  in  strength  ;  Thou 
hadst  not  bestowed  that  on  me.  Immortal 
fame — Psyche — still  lingers  in  my  heart.  Be- 
gone !  away !  They  shall  be  buried  like  yon- 
der Psyche,  the  brightest  gem  of  my  life.  That 
shall  never  ascend  from  its  dark  grave." 

The  star  in  the  rose-tinted  mom  shone  bright- 
ly— the  star  that  assuredly  shall  be  extinguished 


PSYCHE.  141 

and  anniliilated,  while  the  spirits  of  mankind 
live  amidst  celestial  light.  Its  trembling  rays 
fell  upon  the  white  wall,  but  it  inscribed  no 
memorial  there  of  the  blessed  trust  in  God,  of 
the  grace,  of  the  holy  love,  that  dwell  in  the 
believer's  heart. 

"Psyche  within  me  can  never  die — it  will 
live  in  consciousness !  Can  what  is  inconceiv- 
able be  ?  Yes,  yes  !  For  I  myself  am  incon- 
ceivable. Thou  art  inconceivable,  O  Lord ! 
The  whole  of  Thy  universe  is  inconceivable — a 
work  of  power,  of  excellence,  of  love !" 

His  eyes  beamed  with  the  brightest  radiance 
for  a  moment,  and  then  became  dim  and  corpse- 
like. The  church-bells  rang  their  funeral  peal 
over  him — the  dead;  and  he  was  buried  in 
earth  brought  from  Jerusalem,  and  mingled 
with  the  ashes  of  departed  saints. 

Some  years  afterwards  the  skeleton  was  taken 
up,  as  had  been  the  skeletons  of  the  dead  monks 
before  him ;  it  was  attired  in  the  brown  cowl, 
with  a  rosary  in  its  hand,  and  it  was  placed  in 
a  niche  among  the  human  bones  which  were 
found  in  the  burying-ground  of  the  monastery. 
And  the  sun  shone  outside,  and  incense  per- 
fumed the  air  within,  and  masses  were  said. 

Years  again  went  by. 


142  psrcHE. 

The  bones  of  tlie  skeletons  had  fallen  from 
each  other,  and  become  mixed  together.  The 
skulls  were  gathered  and  set  up — tliej  formed 
quite  an  outer  wall  to  the  church.  There  stood 
also  his  skull  in  the  burning  sunshine :  there 
were  so  many,  many  death's  heads,  that  no 
one  knew  now  the  names  they  had  borne,  nor 
his.  And  see!  in  the  sunshine  there  moved 
something  living  within  the  two  eye-sockets. 
"What  could  that  be  ?  A  motley-colored  lizard 
had  sprung  into  the  interior  of  the  skull,  and 
was  passing  out  and  in  through  the  large  empty 
sockets  of  the  eye.  There  was  life  now  within 
that  head,  where  once  grand  ideas,  bright 
dreams,  love  of  art,  and  excellence  had  dwelt 
— from  whence  hot  tears  had  rolled,  and  where 
had  lived  the  hope  of  immortality.  The  lizard 
sprang  forth  and  vanished ;  the  skull  mouldered 
away,  and  became  dust  in  dust. 

It  was  a  centmy  from  that  time.  The  clear 
star  shone  unchanged,  as  brightly  and  beauti- 
fully as  a  thousand  years  before ;  the  dawn  of 
day  was  as  red,  and  fresh,  and  blushing  as  a 
rosebud. 

Where  once  had  been  a  narrow  street,  with 
the  ruins  of  an  ancient  temple,  stood  now  a 
convent.     A  grave  was  to  be  dug  in  the  garden. 


PSYCHE.  143 

for  a  young  nun  had  died,  and  at  an  early  hour 
in  the  morning  she  was  to  be  buried.  In  dig- 
ging the  grave,  the  spade  knocked  against  a 
stone.  Dazzling  white  it  appeared — the  pure 
marble  became  visible.  A  round  shoulder  first 
presented  itself:  the  spade  was  used  more  cau- 
tiously, and  a  female  head  was  soon  discovered, 
and  then  the  wings  of  a  butterfly.  From  the 
grave  in  which  the  young  nun  was  to  be  laid, 
they  raised,  in  the  red  morning  light,  a  beauti- 
ful statue — Psyche  carved  in  the  finest  marble. 
"  How  charming  it  is  !  how  perfect ! — an  ex- 
quisite work,  from  the  most  glorious  period  of 
art !"  it  was  said.  Who  could  have  been  the 
sculptor  ?  No  one  knew  that — none  knew  him 
except  the  clear  star  that  had  shone  for  a  thou- 
sand years ;  it  knew  his  earthly  career,  his  tri- 
als, his  weakness.  But  he  was  dead,  returned 
to  the  dust.  Yet  the  result  of  his  greatest  ef- 
fort, the  most  admirable,  which  proved  his  vast 
genius — Psyche — that  never  can  die ;  that  might 
outlive  fame.  That  was  seen,  appreciated,  ad- 
«iired,  and  loved. 

The  clear  star  in  the  rosy-streaked  morn  sent 
its  glittering  ray  upon  Psyche,  and  upon  the 
delighted  countenances  of  the  admiring  behold- 
ers, who  saw  a  soul  created  in  the  marble  block. 


lU 


PSYCHE. 


All  that  is  earthly  returns  to  earth,  and  is 
orgotten ;  only  the  star  in  the  infinite  vault  of 
leaven  bears  it   in  remembrance.      What   is 
heavenly  obtains  renown  from  its  own  excel- 
lence ;  and  when  even  renown  shall  fade,  Psyche 
shall  still  live. 


THE 

SNAIL  AND  THE  ROSEBUSH. 


ROUND  a  garden  was  a  fence  of  haze] 

bushes,  and  beyond  that  were  fields 

and  meadows,  with  cows  and  sheep ; 

\p^  but  in  the  centre  of  the  garden  stood 

a  Rosebush  in  full  bloom.     Under  it 

lay  a  Snail,  who  had  a  great  deal  in 

him,  according  to  himself.    "  Wait  till 

my  time  comes,"  said  he ;  "I  shall  do  a  great 

deal  more  than  to  yield  roses,  or  to  bear  nuts, 

or  to  give  milk  as  the  cows  do." 

"  I  expect  an  immense  deal  fi'om  you,"  said 
the  Rosebush.  "  May  I  venture  to  ask  when 
it  is  to  come  forth  ?" 

"I  shall  take  my  time,"  replied  the  Snail. 

"  Tou  are  always  in  such  a  hurry  with  your 

work,  that  curiosity  about  it  is  never  excited." 

The  following  year  the  Snail  lay,  almost  in 

the  same  spot  as  formerly,  in  the  sunshine  im- 

13 


146  THE   SNAIL   AND   THE   EOSEBUSH. 

der  tlie  Rosebusti ;  it  was  already  in  bud,  and 
the  buds  bad  begun  to  expand  into  full-blown 
flowers,  always  fresh,  always  new.  And  the 
Snail  crept  half  out,  stretched  forth  its  feelers, 
and  then  drew  them  in  again. 

"  Every  thing  looks  just  the  same  as  last  year ; 
there  is  no  j^rogress  to  be  seen  anywhere.  The 
Rosebush  is  covered  with  roses — it  will  never 
get  beyond  that." 

The  summer  passed,  the  autumn  passed ;  the 
Rosebush  had  yielded  roses  and  buds  up  to  the 
time  that  the  snow  fell.  The  weather  became 
wet  and  tempestuous,  the  Kosebush  bowed  to- 
wards the  ground,  the  Snail  crept  into  the  earth. 

A  new  year  commenced,  the  Rosebush  re- 
vived, and  the  Snail  came  forth  again. 

"  You  are  now  only  an  old  stick  of  a  Rose- 
bush," said  he ;  "  you  must  ex]3ect  to  wither  away 
soon.  You  have  given  the  world  all  that  was 
in  you.  Whether  that  were  worth  much  or 
not,  is  a  question  I  have  not  time  to  take  into 
consideration ;  but  this  is  certain,  that  you 
have  not  done  the  least  for  yom*  o^^^l  im- 
provement, else  something  very  different  might 
have  been  produced  by  you.  Can  you  deny 
this  ?  You  will  soon  become  only  a  bare  stick. 
Do  you  understand  what  I  say  ?" 


"^  THE   SNAIL   AND   THE   EOSEBUSH.  147 

"  Tou  alarm  me,"  cried  tlie  Rosebusli,  "  I 
never  thought  of  this." 

"  ISTo,  you  have  never  troubled  yourself  with 
thinking  much.  But  have  you  not  occasionally 
reflected  why  you  blossomed,  and  in  what  way 
you  blossomed — ^how  in  one  way  and  not  in 
another  ?" 

"]^o,  answered  the  Kosebush;  "  I  blossomed 
in  gladness,  for  I  could  not  do  otherwise.  The 
sun  was  so  warm,  the  air  so  refreshing ;  I  drank 
of  the  clear  dew  and  the  heavy  rain  ;  I  breathed 
— I  lived  !  There  came  uj)  from  the  ground  a 
strength  in  me,  there  came  a  strength  from 
above.  I  experienced  a  degree  of  pleasure,  al- 
ways new,  always  great,  and  I  was  obliged  to 
blossom.  It  was  my  life ;  I  could  not  do  oth- 
erwise." 

"  Tou  have  had  a  very  easy  life,"  remarked 
the  Snail. 

"  To  be  sure,  much  has  been  granted  to  me," 
said  the  Eosebush,  "  but  no  more  will  be  be- 
stowed on  me  now.  You  have  one  of  those 
meditative,  deeply  thinking  minds,  one  so  en- 
dowed that  you  will  astonish  the  world." 

"  1  have  by  no  means  any  such  design,"  said 
the  Snail.  "  The  world  is  nothing  to  me. 
"What  have  I  to  do  with  the  world  ?    I  have 


148  THE    SNAIL   AND   THE   EOSEBUSH. 

enough  to  do  with  myself,  and  enougli  in 
myself." 

"  But  should  we  not  in  this  earth  all  give  our 
best  assistance  to  others — contribute  what  we 
can  ?  Yes !  I  have  only  been  able  to  give 
roses ;  but  you — you  who  have  got  so  much — 
what  have  you  given  to  the  world  ?  What  will 
you  give  it  ?" 

"  "What  have  I  given  ?  What  will  I  give  ?  I 
spit  upon  it !  It  is  good  for  nothing,  I  have 
no  interest  in  it.  Produce  yom*  roses — you 
cannot  do  more  than  that — let  the  hazel  bushes 
bear  nuts,  let  the  cows  give  milk  !  You  have 
each  of  you  your  public ;  I  have  mine  within 
myself.  I  am  going  into  it  myself,  and  shall 
remain  there.     The  world  is  nothing  to  me." 

And  so  the  Snail  withdrew  into  his  house, 
and  closed  it  up. 

"  What  a  sad  pity  it  is !"  exclaimed  the  Eose- 
bush.  "  I  cannot  creep  into  shelter,  however 
much  I  might  wish  it.  I  must  always  spring 
out,  spring  out  into  roses.  The  leaves  fall  off, 
and  they  fly  away  on  the  wind.  But  I  saw  one 
of  the  roses  laid  in  a  psalm-book  belonging 
to  the  mistress  of  the  house ;  another  of  my 
roses  was  placed  on  the  breast  of  a  young  and 
beautiful  girl;  and  another  was  kissed  by  a 


THE   SNAIL   AIsTD   THE   EOSEBUSH.  149 

cliild's  soft  lips  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy.  I  was  so 
charmed  at  all  this:  it  was  a  real  happiness 
to  Yae — one  of  the  pleasant  remembrances  of 
my  life." 

And  the  Rosebush  bloomed  on  in  innocence, 
while  the  Snail  retii-ed  into  his  slimy  house — 
the  world  was  nothing  to  him ! 

Years  flew  on. 

The  Snail  had  returned  to  earth,  the  Eose- 
bush  had  returned  to  earth,  also  the  dried  rose- 
leaf  in  the  psalm-book  had  disappeared,  but 
new  rosebushes  bloomed  in  the  garden,  and 
new  snails  were  there;  they  crept  into  their 
houses,  spitting — the  world  was  nothing  to 
them ! 

Shall  we  read  theii'  history  too  ?     It  would 

not  be  different. 

13* 


TWELVE   BY   THE   MAIL. 


^^^T  was  bitterly  cold;  tlie  sky  gleamed 
witbi  stars,  and  not  a  breeze  was  stirring. 
"  Bump !  an  old  pot  was  thrown 
at  the  neighbors'  house-doors.  'Bang, 
bang,'  went  the  gun ;  for  they  were 
welcoming  the  l^ew  Year.  It  was  ISTew 
Tear's  Eve !  The  church  clock  was  striking 
twelve !" 

"  Tan-ta-ra-ra !"  the  mail  came  lumbering  up. 
The  great  carriage  stopped  at  the  gate  of  the 
town.  There  were  twelve  persons  in  it;  all 
the  places  were  taken. 

"  Hurrah  !  hurrah  !"  sang  the  people  in  the 
houses  of  the  town  ;  for  the  New  Year  was  be- 
ing welcomed,  and  as  the  clock  struck  they 
stood  up  witb  the  filled  glass  in  their  hand,  to 
drink  success  to  the  new-comer. 

"Happy  New  Year!"  was  the  cry.  "A 
pretty  wife !  plenty  of  money !  and  no  soitow 
or  cai*e !" 


TWELVE   BY  THE   MAIL.  151 

TMs  wisli  was  passed  round,  and  then  glasses 
were  clashed  together  till  they  rang  again,  and 
in  front  of  the  town  gate  the  post-carriage  stop- 
ped with  the  strange  guests,  the  twelve  trav- 
ellers. 

And  who  were  these  strangers?  Each  of 
them  had  his  passport  and  his  luggage  with 
him ;  they  even  brought  presents  for  me  and 
for  you,  and  for  all  the  people  of  the  little 
town.  Who  were  they  ?  What  did  they  want, 
and  what  did  they  bring  with  them  ? 

"  Good- morning !"  they  cried  to  the  sentry 
at  the  town  gate.  "Good-morning!"  replied 
the  sentry,  for  the  clock  had  struck  twelve. 

"  Your  name  and  profession  V  the  sentry  in- 
quired of  the  one  who  alighted  first  from  the 
carriage. 

^'  See  yourself,  in  the  passport,"  replied  the 
man.  "I  am  myself!"  and  a  capital  fellow  he 
looked,  arrayed  in  a  bear-skin  and  fur  boots. 
*'  I  am  the  man  on  whom  many  persons  fix 
their  hopes.  Come  to  me  to-morrow ;  I'll  give 
you  a  New- Year's  present.  I  throw  pence  and 
dollars  among  the  people.  I  even  give  balls, 
thirty-one  balls ;  but  I  cannot  devote  more 
than  thirty-one  nights  to  this.  My  sliips  ai'e 
frozen  in,  but  in  my  office  it  is  warm  and  com- 


152  TWELVE   BY   THE   MAIL. 

fortable.  I'm  a  mercliant.  My  name  is  Jan- 
uary, and  I  only  carry  accounts  witli  me. 

Now  the  second  alighted :  he  was  a  merry 
companion  ;  he  was  a  theatre  director,  manager 
of  the  masque  balls,  and  all  the  amusements  one 
can  imagine.  His  luggage  consisted  of  a  great 
tub. 

"  We'll  dance  the  cat  out  of  the  tub  at  car- 
nival time,"  said  he.  "I'll  prepare  a  merry 
tune  for  you,  and  for  myself  too.  I  have  not 
exactly  long  to  live, — the  shortest,  in  fact,  of 
my  whole  family ;  for  I  only  become  twenty- 
eight  days  old.  Sometimes  they  pop  me  in  an 
extra  day,  but  I  trouble  myself  very  little  about 
that — ^hurrah !" 

"  You  must  not  shout  so !"  said  the  sentry. 

"  Certainly,  I  may  shout !"  retorted  the  man. 
"  I'm  Prince  Carnival,  travelling  under  the 
name  of  Febkuaey  !" 

The  third  now  got  out ;  he  looked  like  Fast- 
ing itself,  but  carried  his  nose  very  high,  for  he 
was  related  to  the  "  Forty  Knights,"  and  was 
a  weather  prophet.  But  that's  not  a  profitable 
ofiice,  and  that's  why  he  praised  fasting.  In 
his  button-hole  he  had  a  little  bunch  of  violets, 
but  they  were  very  small. 

"Makch!  Maech!"  the  fourth  called  after 


TWELVE   BY   THE   MAIL.  153 

him,  and  slapped  him  on  the  shoulder:  "Do 
you  smell  nothing  ?  Go  quickly  into  the  guard 
room ;  there  they're  drinking  punch,  your  fa- 
vorite drink ;  I  can  smell  it  already  out  here. 
Forward,  Master  Maech  !  But  it  was  not  true ; 
the  speaker  only  wanted  to  let  him  feel  the  influ- 
ence of  his  own  name,  and  make  an  Apeil  fool 
of  him;  for  with  that  the  fourth  began  his 
career  in  the  town.  He  looked  very  jovial,  did 
little  work,  but  had  the  more  holidays.  "  If  it 
were  only  a  little  more  steady  in  the  world  !" 
said  he ;  but  sometimes  one  is  in  a  good  humor, 
sometimes  in  a  bad  one,  according  to  circum- 
stances ;  now  rain,  now  sunshine.  I  am  a  kind 
of  house  and  ofiice  letting  agent ;  also  a  mana- 
ger of  funerals ;  I  can  laugh  or  cry,  according 
to  circumstances.  Here  in  this  box  I  have  my 
summer  wardrobe,  but  it  would  be  very  foolish 
to  put  it  on.  Here  I  am  now !  On  Sundays 
I  go  out  walking  in  shoes  and  white  silk  stock- 
ings, and  with  a  muff!" 

After  him  a  lady  came  out  of  the  carriage. 
She  called  herself  Miss  May.  She  wore  a  sum 
mer  costume  and  overshoes,  a  light-green  dress 
and  anemones  in  her  hair,  and  she  was  so 
scented  with  wild  thyme  that  the  sentry  had  to 
sneeze.     "  God  bless  you !"  she  said,  and  that 


154  TWELVE   BY   THE   MAIL. 

was  her  salutation.  How  prettj  she  was !  and 
she  was  a  singer :  not  a  theatre  singer  nor  a  bal- 
lad singer — no,  a  singer  of  the  woods ;  for  she 
warmed  through  the  gay  green  forest  and  sang 
there  for  her  own  amusement. 

"  Kow  comes  the  young  dame !"  said  those 
in  the  can-iage,  and  the  young  dame  stepped 
out,  delicate,  proud,  and  pretty.  It  was  easy 
to  see  that  she  was  Mistress  June,  accustomed 
to  be  served  by  drowsy  marmots.  She  gave  a 
great  feast  on  the  longest  day  of  the  year,  that 
the  guests  might  have  time  to  partake  of  the 
many  dishes  at  her  table.  She,  indeed,  kept 
her  own  carriage ;  but  still  she  travelled  in  the 
mail  with  the  rest,  because  slie  wanted  to  show 
that  she  was  not  high-minded.  But  she  was 
not  without  protection ;  her  younger  brother, 
July,  was  with  her. 

He  was  a  plump  young  fellow,  clad  in  sum- 
mer garments,  and  with  a  panama  hat.  He 
had  but  little  baggage  with  him,  because  it  was 
cumbersome  in  the  great  heat;  therefore  he 
had  only  provided  himself  with  swimming 
trowsers,  and  those  are  not  much. 

Then  came  the  mother  herself.  Madam  Au- 
gust, wholesale  dealer  in  fruit,  proprietress  of  a 
large  number  of  fishponds,  and  land  cultivator 


^=-^    TWELVE   BY   THE   MAIL.  165 

in  a  great  crinoline ;  slie  was  fat  and  hot,  could 
use  her  hands  well,  and  would  herself  carry 
out  beer  to  the  workmen  in  the  fields.  "  In  the 
sweat  of  thy  face  shalt  thou  eat  bread,"  said 
she ;  that  is  written  in  the  Book.  Afterwards 
come  the  excursions,  dance,  and  playing  in  the 
green  wood,  and  the  harvest-feasts !  She  was 
a  thorough  housewife. 

After  her,  a  man  came  out  of  the  coach,  a 
painter,  Mr.  Master-col orer  September;  the 
forest  had  to  receive  him ;  the  leaves  were  to 
change  their  colors,  but  how  beautifully,  when 
he  wished  it.  Soon  the  wood  plumed  with  red, 
yellow,  and  brown.  The  master  whistled  like 
the  black  magpie,  was  a  quick  workman,  and 
wound  the  brown-green  hop  plants  round  his 
beer-jug.  That  was  an  ornament  for  the  jug, 
and  he  had  a  good  idea  for  ornament.  There 
lie  stood  with  his  color-pot,  and  that  wps  his 
whole  luggage ! 

A  landed  proprietor  followed  him,  one  who 
cared  for  the  ploughing  and  preparing  of  the 
land,  and  also  for  field-sports.  Squire  Octobee 
brought  his  dog  and  his  gun  with  him,  and  had 
nuts  in  his  game-bag;  "Crack!  crack!"  He 
had  much  baggage,  even  an  English  plough : 
he  spoke  of  fanning;  but  one  could  scarcely 


156  TWELVE   BY   THE   MAIL. 

hear  wliat  he  said,  for  the  coughmg  and  gasp- 
ing of  his  neighbor. 

It  was  NovEMBEE  who  coughed  so  yiolently, 
as  he  got  out.  He  was  very  much  plagued  by 
a  cold ;  he  was  continually  having  recourse  to  his 
pocket-handkerchief;  and  yet,  he  said,  he  was 
obliged  to  accompany  the  servant-girls  and  ini- 
tiate them  into  their  new  winter  service.  He 
said  he  should  get  rid  of  his  cold  when  he  went 
out  wood-cutting,  and  had  to  saw  and  split 
wood,  for  he  was  a  sawyer-master  to  the  fii-e- 
wood  guild.  He  spent  his  evenings  cutting 
the  wooden  soles  for  skates,  for  he  knew,  he 
said,  that  in  a  few  weeks  there  would  be  occa- 
sion to  use  these  amusing  shoes. 

At  length  appeared  the  last  passenger,  old 
Mother  Decembee,  with  her  iire-stool :  the  old 
lady  was  cold,  but  her  eyes  glistened  like  two 
bright  stars.  She  carried  on  her  arm  a  flower- 
pot, in  which  a  little  fir-tree  was  growing. 

"  This  tree  I  will  guard  and  cherish,  that  it 
may  grow  large  by  Christmas-eve,  and  may 
reach  from  the  ground  to  the  ceiling,  and  may 
rear  itself  upward  with  flaming  candles,  golden 
apples,  and  little  carved  figures.  The  fire-stool 
warms  like  a  stove.  -  I  bring  the  story-book  out 
of  my  pocket,  and  read  aloud,  so  that  all  the 


TWELVE  BY   THE   MAIL.  157 

children  m  the  room  become  quite  quiet,  hut 
the  little  figures  on  the  trees  become  lively,  and 
the  little  waxen  angel  on  the  top  spreads  out 
his  wings  of  gold-leaf,  flies  down  from  the  green 
perch,  and  kisses  great  and  small  in  the  room ; 
yes,  even  the  poor  children  who  stand  out  in 
the  passage  and  in  the  street,  singing  the  carol 
about  the  Star  of  Bethlehem. 

"Well,  now  the  coach  may  drive  away!" 
said  the  sentry,  "  we  have  the  whole  twelve. 
Let  the  chaise  drive  up." 

"  First,  let  all  the  twelve  come  in  to  me !"  said 
the  captain  on  duty.  "  One  after  the  other  t 
The  passports  I  will  keep  here.  Each  of  them 
is  available  for  a  month ;  when  that  has  passed, 
I  shall  write  the  behavior  on  each  passport. 
Mr.  January,  have  the  goodness  to  come  here," 
and  Mr.  January  stepped  forward. 

"  When  a  year  is  passed,  I  think  I  shall  be 
able  to  tell  what  the  twelve  have  brought  me, 
and  to  you,  and  to  all  of  us.     Kow  I  do  not 
know  it,  and  they  don't  probably  know  it  them 
selves ;  for  we  live  in  strange  times. 
14 


EOSE 
FROM  THE  GRAVE  OF  HOMER. 


LL  the  songs  of  the  East  tell  of  the 
love  of  the  nightingale  to  the  rose  ;  in 
the  silent  starlit  nights  the  winged 
songster  serenades  his  fragrant  flower. 
Not  far  from  Smyrna,  nnder  the 
lofty  plantains,  where  the  merchant 
drives  his  loaded  camels,  that  proudly 
lift  their  long  necks  and  tramp  over  the  holy 
ground,  I  saw  a  hedge  of  roses.  Wild  pigeons 
flew  among  the  branches  of  the  high  trees,  and 
their  wings  glistened,  while  a  sunbeam  glided 
over  them,  as  if  they  were  of  mother-of-pearl. 

Tlie  rose-hedge  bore  a  flower,  which  was 
the  most  beautiful  among  all,  and  the  night- 
ingale sang  to  her  of  his  woes.  But  the  rose 
was  silent ;  not  a  dew-drop  lay,  like  a  tear  o± 
sympathy,  upon  her  leaves, — she  bent  down 
over  a  few  great  stones. 


A  EOSE  FEOM  THE  GRAVE  OF  HOMER.   15& 

"  Here  rests  the  greatest  singer  of  the  world !" 
said  the  rose ;  "  over  his  tomb  will  I  pour  out 
my  fragrance,  and  on  it  I  will  let  fall  my  leaves 
when  the  storm  tears  them  off!  He  who  sang 
of  Troy  became  earth,  and  from  that  earth  I 
have  sprung !  I,  a  rose  from  the  grave  of 
Homer,  am  too  lofty  to  bloom  for  a  poor  night- 
ingale !" 

And  the  nightingale  sang  himself  to  death. 

The  camel-driver  came  with  his  loaded  cam- 
els and  his  black  slaves :  his  little  son  found 
the  dead  bird,  and  buried  the  little  songster  in 
the  grave  of  the  great  Homer ;  and  the  rose 
trembled  in  the  wind.  The  evening  came,  and 
the  rose  wrapped  her  leaves  more  closely  to- 
gether, and  di"eamed  thus :  "  It  was  a  fair  sun- 
shiny day :  a  crowd  of  strangers  drew  near,  for 
they  had  undertaken  a  pilgrimage  to  the  grave 
of  Homer.  Among  the  strangers  was  a  singer 
from  the  north,  the  home  of  clouds  and  of  the 
northern  light ;  he  plucked  the  rose,  placed  it 
in  a  book,  and  carried  it  away  into  another  part 
of  the  world,  to  his  distant  fatherland.  The 
rose  faded  with  grief,  and  lay  in  the  narrow 
book,  which  he  opened  in  his  home,  saying, 
'  Here  is  a  rose  from  the  grave  of  Homer.' " 

This  the  flower  dreamed;   and  she  awoke 


160     A  EOSE   FROM   THE   GEAVE   OF    HOIVIEE. 

and  trembled  in  the  wind.  A  drop  of  dew  fell 
from  the  leaves  upon  the  singer's  grave.  The 
snn  rose,  and  the  rose  glowed  more  beauteous 
than  before :  it  was  a  hot  daj,  and  she  was  in 
her  own  warm  Asia.  Then  footsteps  were 
heard,  and  Frankish  strangers  came,  such  as 
the  rose  had  seen  in  her  dream,  and  among  the 
strangers  was  a  poet  from  the  north ;  he  plucked 
the  rose,  jDressed  a  kiss  upon  her  fresh  mouth, 
and  carried  her  away  to  the  home  of  the  clouds 
and  of  the  northern  light. 

Like  a  mummy  the  flower  corpse  now  rests 
in  his  "  Iliad ;"  and  as  in  a  dream,  she  hears 
him  open  the  book  and  say :  "  Here  is  a  rose 
fi-om  the  grave  of  Homer." 


THE    RACERS. 


PRIZE,  or  rather  two  prizes,  Lad  been 
appointed — a  great  one  and  a  little 
one — for  the  greatest  swiftness,  not  in  a 
single  race,  but  for  swiftness  tlirough- 
oat  an  entire  year. 

"  I  got  the  first  prize !"  said  the  hare ; 
"  there  must  be  justice  when  relations 
and  good  friends  are  among  the  prize  commit- 
tee ;  but  that  the  snail  should  have  received  the 
second  prize,  I  consider  almost  an  insult  to 
myself." 

"  No !"  declared  the  fence-rail,  who  had  been 
witness  at  the  distribution  of  prizes,  "  reference 
must  also  be  had  to  industry  and  perseverance. 
Many  respectable  people  said  so,  and  I  under- 
stood it  well.  Tlie  snail  certainly  took  half  a 
year  to  get  across  the  threshold  of  the  door ; 
but  he  did  himself  an  injury,  and  broke  his. 
collar-bone  in  the  haste  he  was  compelled  to- 
make.      He  devoted  himself  entirely  to  his- 


1^^  THE   EACEES. 

work,  and  lie  ran  with  his  house  on  his  back  ! 
All  that  is  rerj  charming !  and  that's  how  he 
got  the  second  prize !" 

"I  might  certainly  have  been  considered, 
too !"  said  the  swallow.  "  I  should  think  that 
no  one  appeared  swifter  in  flying  and  soaring 
than  myself,  and  how  far  I  have  been  around — 
far — far — far !" 

"  Yes,  that's  just  your  misfortune,"  said  the 
fence-rail.  "You're  too  fond  of  fluttering. 
You  must  always  be  journeying  about,  into  far 
countries,  when  it  begins  to  be  cold  here. 
You've  no  love  of  fatherland  in  you.  You  can- 
not be  taken  into  account." 

"  But  if  I  lay  in  the  moor  all  through  the 
winter,"  said  the  swallow— "  suppose  I  slept 
through  the  whole  time— should  I  be  taken  into 
account  then  ?" 

"  Bring  a  certificate  fi-om  the  old  moor-hen 
that  you  have  slept  away  half  the  time  in  your 
fatherland,  and  you  shall  be  taken  into  ac- 
count." 

"  I  deserved  the  first  prize,  and  not  the  sec- 
ond," said  the  snail.  "I  know  so  much,  at 
least,  that  the  hare  only  ran  from  cowardice, 
because  he  thought  each  time  there  was  danger 
in  delay.     I,  on  the  other  hand,  made  my  run- 


THE  EACEES.  163 

ning  tlie  business  of  mj  life,  and  have  become 
a  cripple  in  the  service !  If  any  one  was  to 
have  the  first  prize,  I  should  have  had  it ;  but 
I  don't  understand  chattering  and  boasting ;  on 
the  contrary,  I  despise  it!"  And  the  snail 
looked  quite  haughty. 

"  I  am  able  to  depose  with  word  and  oath 
that  each  prize,  at  least  my  vote  for  each,  was 
given  after  proper  consideration,"  observed  the 
old  boundary  post  in  the  wood,  who  had  been 
a  member  of  the  college  of  judges,  "  I  always 
go  on  with  due  consideration,  with  order,  and 
calculation.  Seven  times  before  I  have  had 
the  honor  to  be  present  at  the  distribution 
of  prizes,  and  to  give  my  vote ;  but  not  till  to- 
day have  I  carried  out  my  will.  I  always  went 
to  the  first  prize  from  the  beginning  of  the  al- 
phabet, and  to  the  second  from  the  end.  Be 
kind  enough  to  give  me  your  attention,  and  I 
will  explain  to  you  how  one  begins  at  the  be- 
ginning. The  eighth  letter  from  A  is  H,  and 
there  we  have  the  hare,  and  so  I  awarded  him 
the  first  prize ;  the  eighth  letter  from  the  end 
of  the  alphabet  is  S,  and  therefore  the  snail  re- 
ceived the  second  prize.  Next  time  I  will  have 
its  turn  for  the  first  prize,  and  E  for  the  second : 
there  must  be  due  ordier  and  calculation  in 
8 


164  THE   EACEES. 

every  thing !  One  must  have  a  certain  start- 
ing point !" 

"  I  should  certainly  have  voted  for  myself, 
if  I  had  not  been  among  the  judges,"  said  the 
mule,  who  had  been  one  of  the  committee. 
"  One  must  not  only  consider  the  rapidity  of 
advance,  but  every  other  quality  also  that  is 
found, — as  for  example,  how  much  a  candidate 
is  able  to  draw;  but  I  would  not  have  put 
that  prominently  forward  this  time,  ror  the 
sagacity  of  the  hare  in  his  flight,  or  the  cun- 
ning with  which  he  suddenly  takes  a  leap  to 
one  side  to  bring  people  on  a  false  track,  so  that 
they  may  not  know  where  he  has  hidden  him- 
self. JSTo !  there  is  something  else  on  which 
many  lay  great  stress,  and  which  one  may  not 
leave  out  of  the  calculation.  I  mean  what  is 
called  the  beautiful :  on  the  beautiful  I  partic- 
ularly fixed  my  eyes ;  I  looked  at  the  beautiful 
well-grown  ears  of  the  hare ;  it's  quite  a  pleas- 
ure to  see  how  long  they  are :  it  almost  seemed 
to  me  as  if  I  saw  myself  in  the  days  of  my 
childhood,  and  so  I  voted  for  the  hare." 

"But!" — said  the  fly, — "I'm  not  going  to 
talk,  I'm  only  going  to  say  that  I  have  over- 
taken more  than  one  hare.  Quite  lately  I 
crushed  the  hind-legs  of  one  j  I  was  sitting  on 


THE   EAjDEES.  165 

the  engine  in  front  of  a  railway  train — I  often 
do  that,  for  thus  one  can  best  notice  one's  own 
swiftness.  A  young  hare  ran  for  a  long  time  in 
front  of  the  engine ;  he  had  no  idea  that  I  was 
present — ^but  at  last  he  was  obliged  to  give  in 
and  spring  aside — but  then  the  engine  crushed 
his  hind-legs,  for  I  was  upon  it.  The  hare  lay 
there,  but  I  rode  on.  That  certainly  was  con- 
quering him  !     But  I  don't  count  the  prize !" 

"It  certainly  appears  to  me" — thoiight  the 
wild-rose — but  she  did  not  say  it ;  for  it  is  not 
her  nature  to  give  her  opinion,  though  it  would 
have  been  quite  well  if  she  had  done  so.  "  It 
certainly  appears  to  me  that  the  sunbeam  ought 
to  have  had  the  first  prize,  and  the  second  too. 
The  sunbeam  flies  with  intense  rapidity  along 
the  enormous  path  from  the  sun  to  ourselves,  and 
arrives  in  such  strength  that  all  nature  awakes 
at  it ;  such  beauty  does  it  possess,  that  all  we 
roses  blush,  and  exhale  fragrance  in  its  pres- 
ence !  Our  worshipful  judges  do  not  appear  to 
have  noticed  this  at  all !  If  I  were  the  sunbeam, 
I  would  give  each  of  them  a  sunstroke — but 
that  would  only  make  them  mad,  and  that  they 
may  become,  as  things  stand.  ^,  I  say  nothing !" 
thought  the  wild-rose.  "May  peace  reign  in 
the  forest !     It  is  glorious  to  blossom,  to  scent, 


166  THE  EACEES. 

and  to  live, — to  live  in  song  and  legend !  The 
sunbeam  will  outlive  us  all !" 

"What's  the  first  prize?"  asked  the  earth- 
worm, who  had  overslept  the  time,  and  only 
came  up  now. 

"  It  consists  in  a  free  admission  to  a  cabbage- 
garden  !"  replied  the  mule.  "  I  proposed  that 
as  the  prize.  The  hare  was  decidedly  to  have 
it,  and  therefore  I,  as  an  active  and  reflective 
member,  took  especial  notice  of  the  advantage 
of  him  who  was  to  get  it ;  now  the  hare  is  pro- 
vided for.  The  snail  may  sit  upon  the  fence 
and  lick  up  moss  and  sunshine,  and  has  further 
been  appointed  one  of  the  first  umpires  in  the 
racing.  That's  worth  a  great  deal,  to  have 
some  one  of  talent  in  the  thing  men  call  a  com- 
mittee. I  must  say  I  expect  much  from  the 
future — we  have  made  a  very  good  begin- 
ning !" 


DON'T  FORUET  THE  CHILDREN. 


Attractive  new  Juveniles,  just  issued : 

1.  LITTLE  RUDY,  and  other  Tales.    By  Hans  Chris- 

tian Andersen.     1  vol.  16mo.    Illustrated.     Cloth,  90  cts. 

2.  THE     MUD-KING'S    DAUGHTER,    and   other 

Tales.  By  Hans  Christian  Andersen.  1  vol.  16mo.  Illus- 
trated.    Cloth,  90  cts. 

3.  THE  DANISH  STORY-BOOK.    By  Hans  Christian 

Andersen.     1  thick  vol.  16mo.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

4.  THE  ANGEL  UNAWARES,  and  other  Stories.    By 

Mary  Ilowitt.     1  vol.  12mo.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

5.  PETER   DRAKE'S   DREAM,   and  other  Stories. 

By  Mary  Eowitt.    1  vol.  12mo.    Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

6.  THE  YOUNG  FORESTERS,  and  other  Tales.    By 

W.  H.  G.  Kingston,  author  of  "  Peter  the  Whaler."  1  vol. 
12rao.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

7.  CLEVER  JACK,  and  other  Stories.    By  Anne  Bow- 

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Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

8.  CAMP-FIRES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION;  or,  the 

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Stories.  By  Henry  0.  Watson.  One  handsome  vol.,  8vo, 
with  a  profusion  of  engravings.     Cloth  extra,  $2.50. 

9.  THE  CHILDREN'S  BIBLE  .PICTURE-BOOK. 

Illustrated  with  50  engravings.  One  thick  vol.,  16uio. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

10.  LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OF   ROBINSON 

CRUSOE.  New  edition,  complete.  1  vol.,  12mo.  Il- 
lustrated.    Cloth,  $1.50. 


UNDINE  AND  SINTRAM.  From  the  German  of 
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cloth,  $1.50. 

The  same,  in  red  edges,  $1.75. 

THIODOLF     THE     ICELANDER:     A    Romance. 

From  the  German  of  The  Babon  de  la  Motte  Fou- 
que.    1  neat  vol.  12mo,  cloth,  $1.50. 

The  same,  in  red  edges,  $1.75, 

1.  HOW  TO  GET  A  FARM,  and  where  to  find  one : 

Showing'  that  Homesteads  may  be  had  by  those  desirous  of 
securing  them.  By  the  author  of  "Ten  Acres  Enough" 
1  vol.  12mo.     Cloth,  $1.75. 

It  is  known  that  foreigners  are  now  seeking  this  eonntry  in  larger 
numbers  than  for  several  years  past.  This  coming  stream  of  immi- 
gration promises  to  expand  into  greater  volume  than  ever.  Multitudes 
of  these  are  ignorant  of  our  true  condition,  and  need  correct  informa- 
tion. Thf  'ajority  are  in  search  of  land.  Even  our  own  citizens  are 
deplorabI>  ignorant  of  where  to  find  the  most  eligible,  and  how  to  se- 
cure it.  The  facts  contained  in  these  pages  have  been  collated  with 
especial  reference  to  the  wants  of  both  these  classes  of  inquirers. 

2,  TEN  ACRES  ENOUGH :  A  practical  experience, 
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large  Family.     1  vol.  12mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

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title,  the  author  confining  himself  almost  entirely  to  his  own  expe- 
rience, which  he  relates  in  such  a  winning  manner  as  to  tempt  the 
weary  resident  of  the  city  to  change  employment  without  delay.  The 
hook  will  be  invaluable  to  those  interested  in  the  subject." — The 
(Boston)  C&7igr€_gationuHst. 

S.  OUR  FARM  OF  FOUR  ACRES,  and  the  money 
we  made  by  it.     1  vol.  12mo.     Cloth,  $1. 

4.  CHRISTIAN  ASPECT  OF  FAITH  AND  DUTY 

By  J.  J.  Tayler.  With  an  Introduction  by  Kev.  H.  W.  Bel- 
lows, D.  D.     1  vol.  12mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

5.  THE  PROBLEM  OF  HUMAN  DESTINY.    By 

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